


It's Not Easy Being Green

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, Crack, F/M, Jealousy, but not in a mean way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 17:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: Killian acquiesces to what he thinks are Emma’s wishes, and backs off. And that’s just fine by her. Really. She has no regrets at all. He’s perfectly free to do whatever he wants. She’s moving back to New York anyway.Okay, so she keeps putting off the move. And yeah, the sight of him laughing and bantering and going on boat trips with other people, especially gorgeous women (of which Storybrooke really has an unfair amount), is infuriating for some reason.But it’s not like she wants him. It’s not like he’s handsome and charming and far more appealing than he has any right to be.And she is definitely, absolutely, not jealous.(Canon divergence during 3b, crack with a generous side of feelings and angst and conversations that, alas, didn’t happen in canon. Updates every week!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNmtzzyLDWU  
> Cover: https://66.media.tumblr.com/be1676ca9d0b4927bc50122b72cee4cf/tumblr_pe1dvt5QST1tcsvkro1_r1_500.png

_Remember all the things that you and I did first? And now you’re doing them with her?!_

 

*  *  *

 

Killian Jones was a problem.

Emma had parked him firmly in the “flirts a lot, doesn’t mean a word of it” drawer in her mind, which made him easy to deal with, if often infuriating. The problem was that he was refusing to stay in there, with his sincere blue eyes and his lowered voice and his confessions.

“I came back to save you.” Said in that quiet, earnest voice, like he meant it. Like he had actual feelings.

Ruthless pirates weren’t supposed to have feelings, right?

Emma was not good with feelings. They were unpredictable, and unreliable, and inconvenient. The idea of Hook having feelings for her was... well, it was... she wasn’t good with words, either. But it made her feel all warm and squirmy inside, and she didn’t like it.

Much.

She didn’t _want_ to like it, anyway.

But if he didn’t stop, she was going to do something stupid, like kiss him again. Or fall in love with him. And that couldn’t happen, because she had built walls around her heart for good reasons. Emma didn’t do love. What a ridiculous notion.

She was going to defeat the Wicked Witch, and then she was moving back to New York, where it was safe.

If everyone could just stop throwing him at her every chance they got.

“What is he gonna do?” she demanded, glaring at her father. “I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand!”

Hook looked taken aback, then affronted. “Fine! Suit yourself.”

“Hook—” David began, but before anyone could argue any more, Regina had swept past the pirate.

“I’ll go,” she said. “Come on.”

“I’m going alone!” Emma insisted.

Regina shot her an arch look. “Oh yeah? And what’s your plan, exactly, for beating the Wicked Witch and the Dark One?”

Emma didn’t have a plan.

“Right,” Regina said, apparently taking Emma’s lack of reply as confirmation of something she’d already suspected. “I’m calling Tinkerbell, and Robin Hood, and we are going to take this witch down.”

And, to Emma’s mild amazement and consternation, they did.

Afterwards, she tracked Hook down in the waiting area of the hospital—to check on him because of the curse, obviously. No other reason.

“I can’t tell if it’s gone,” he said, scowling at the mention of the curse. “It feels like it has, but I don’t know.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she told him. “I can tell.”

She lifted her fingers to his lips, like Tink had told her. (Why exactly she hadn’t just asked Tink to do it was a question she didn’t much like, and was therefore ignoring.) Her fingers tingled, but there was no magic there. Just his lips, soft and slightly chapped from the cold. She didn’t wonder how they’d feel against hers. She didn’t have to. She remembered.

(Gentle and urgent and giving and demanding all at once, wet and messy and perfect, heat searing her skin where she touched him—)

“You’re good,” she said, withdrawing her hand too quickly and stepping back. “No curse. I guess it broke when Zelena lost her magic.”

“Good to know,” he said, looking relieved, but preoccupied. There was a furrow between his brows that didn’t seem to want to lift. It was a smouldering sort of look, and the fact that he wasn’t doing it for effect did nothing to detract from the effect. “How is the little prince?”

Emma smiled. She still wasn’t sure how she felt having a little brother who was younger than her own kid, but she had to admit that he was cute. And it was a damn relief to know that Zelena wouldn’t be able to steal him away. “He’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s over.”

Hook nodded. Then he said, “I was hoping we could talk. When you have a moment, that is.”

“Talk?” Emma echoed, not liking the sound of that at all. “About what?”

“Everything that’s happened lately,” Hook said, and she’d never seen him look so unsure, so... almost shy, really. “Zelena. The curse. The past year. You and I.”

“I—there’s nothing to talk about.” It was a lie, and Emma didn’t even need her superpower to know it. There was plenty to talk about. She just didn’t want to. It was going to involve feelings, and he would say things that sounded far too good to be true, and—

“All right.” He hesitated, then blew out a heavy breath, and nodded. “I suppose that answers that.”

“What?”

He nodded again. “You’ve made yourself quite clear, and I’m not entirely obtuse, either. I hope you know that I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

Emma wasn’t sure she was following. “You... yeah, I know.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, a wistful smile edging onto his face. “I wish you all the best, Swan. In New York, or wherever you end up finding happiness.”

Of all the things Emma might have expected, this was not one of them. Killian Jones, giving up on her?

More than that—being gracious about it, as if he was granting her some sort of wish, as if it was _her_ idea?

He was looking at her—sincere, understanding, that wistful smile lingering on his lips. But his jaw was set, like he’d accepted a hard truth.

Emma managed a smile, and nodded back. “Thanks. You, too.” That was all wrong, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

It was good, she told herself. She was relieved. He’d finally got the message. He would leave her alone at last, and she was in no more danger of _feelings_.

Problem solved.

 

*  *  *

 

The next day, Zelena was gone. The footage from the security camera showed her turning herself into a statue, and crumbling.

Emma had a bad feeling about it. From the look on Regina’s face as they exchanged a glance, neither of them thought Zelena the type to commit suicide. Besides which... hadn’t she lost her magic?

Gold and Belle left; Regina started arguing with anyone who asked a question; Emma, her head beginning to ache, volunteered for the lunch run.

And ran straight into Hook, sitting at the counter in Granny’s.

“ _That_ is an abomination,” he was saying to Ruby, who was laughing while making a latte for another customer. “I never looked like that.”

“I dunno.” Ruby shot him a grin. “I think you’d look good with a perm.”

“Is _that_ what a perm is?” He glanced down at the counter, where Emma saw Ruby’s phone, displaying a picture. She could just about guess what picture it was. She had to stifle a sudden, sharp burst of annoyance. What the hell was Ruby doing, showing him that? That was— _she_ was the one who’d— _she’d_ been going to—not that it mattered.

“Oh, come on, you never had a weird-hair phase? Everyone had a weird-hair phase. Hi, Emma!” Ruby gave a little wave as she handed the latte to the waiting woman.

Hook turned, his eyes meeting Emma’s with a jolt. After the briefest hesitation, he smiled at her—not the wide, delighted smile she usually got, though it was perfectly friendly. It lasted barely a second before he turned his attention back to Ruby. “I had longer hair once, but never _that_ , I assure you.”

“Maybe you should try it,” Ruby suggested, still laughing at his outrage. “What d’you think, Emma? Dustin Hoffman or Jason Isaacs?”

“Who is that?” Hook asked, suspicious.

“Actors who’ve played Captain Hook,” Emma said grudgingly. “I never saw the one with Jason Isaacs, actually.”

“Oh, you should,” Ruby said. “Although, it’d be kind of weird now, I guess. Seeing Pan as the hero, and all that.”

“Good,” Hook said, with feeling. “It _should_ be weird.”

Behind Emma, the bell jingled, and he looked over reflexively. His eyes widened. Emma turned to see that Tink had stopped on the threshold, her eyes on Hook. She glowered at him, turned on her heel, and swept out.

“Bugger me,” Hook muttered. “Excuse me, ladies—Tink!” He pushed to his feet and strode towards the door.

Ruby raised her eyebrows and whistled. Granny, bustling past her behind the counter, chuckled. Emma frowned, opened her mouth to ask what that was about, then thought better of it. She didn’t care.

She found out anyway, when she saw Hook and Tink walking along the street together the next day. He was grinning at her as he talked, and she was laughing and giving him half-exasperated looks. Whatever it was that had had Tink glaring at him, they seemed to have worked it out. They looked... comfortable. Familiar.

Hook nudged Tink’s shoulder with his, teasing her about something, and Tink pointed a finger at him, pretending to admonish him between laughter.

Emma’s gut twisted.

 

*  *  *

 

Emma knew that she would need to tell her parents about her plans to move back to New York, but she’d been putting it off so far. Let things get back to normal first, after the upheaval that Zelena had caused. Figure out where Zelena had actually gone. Give Henry time to mourn his father.

She and Regina were back to sharing custody now that the curse was broken and Henry remembered all of his parents. Emma wasn’t sure she liked it, but she’d accepted it.

She was not prepared to see Henry down at the docks, disembarking from a fishing boat, accompanied by Hook.

“What?” Regina asked when she brought it up. “You said Hook’s good with him.”

“Yeah, but—” Emma took a breath. “That was when—that was before he remembered you.”

“Yes, well.” Regina looked away, discomfited. “Look, Henry wanted to go, and I think it’s good for him. After, well, Neal. And everything.”

Emma’s gut twisted again. Regina was right, of course; Hook could tell Henry things about Neal that Emma had never known. But that was—he’d offered to do that before, when he’d been talking to her in the diner, and it had been she, Emma, who had taken Henry down to the docks, and—

It didn’t matter.

 

*  *  *

 

The naming ceremony for her little brother was held in Granny’s, and her parents invited the entire town. Regina arrived with Robin Hood, looking happier and more at peace than Emma had ever seen her. Even Belle and Gold made an appearance, Belle looking radiant, Gold looking like Belle had persuaded him to come.

Hook came alone, and made straight for the far end of the bar, where some of the Merry Men were chatting to Tinkerbell.

Tink greeted Hook with a grin and a punch on the arm, and ordered him a beer. Emma glowered at her drink, and ignored them.

She had braced herself for speeches, but David kept it short, talking about love and family and the importance of having heroes to look up to.

“We didn’t want to name him after anyone,” David said. “We wanted him to have his own name, but one that honours two people without whom, I think, we wouldn’t be here today.”

He smiled down at Mary Margaret, who took the cue.

“People of Storybrooke,” she went on, “it is our great joy to introduce you all to our son... Prince Lucas.”

She smiled at Ruby, who was already dabbing furiously at her eyes, and Granny, whose eyes were suspiciously bright, too.

Everyone else was applauding, and people began shuffling closer to offer congratulations and greet the baby. Emma sat in the booth across from her parents, smiling, and trying not to think about how they would have done this with her if they could have.

If they hadn’t had to give her up.

“Look at him!” Tink had the boy in her arms now, beaming down at him. “Hi, Luke. I’m Tink, and this is Killian.”

Hook stood looking over Tink’s shoulder; he shot her a sheepishly-exasperated look at her introduction, but a soft smile took over his features as he reached out and took Luke’s tiny hand between thumb and forefinger. “A pleasure to meet you, lad.”

They looked like a family, standing together like that. Emma’s throat was suddenly dry. She wanted to get up and rip her little brother from Tink, wanted to be the one holding him and introducing him to—to _everyone_.

“Emma?” Tink was looking at her, a guileless smile on her face. “You want to hold him? Here.”

Emma felt a flash of fear as Tink approached, making to hand the child over. She wasn’t good with babies. She’d never held Henry, even if she now had memories of doing so—memories that still kept her awake sometimes.

“I, uh—”

She narrowed her eyes at Tink. Was she doing it on purpose? Trying to show everyone just how bad Emma was at this, as compared to Tink herself, who looked completely at ease—

“Settle him in the crook of your arm,” Hook said unexpectedly.

Tink nodded. “Yep. And just make sure to support his head. Here we go...” Luke made a little noise as Tink deposited him into Emma’s arms, and the fairy beamed again. “Hey, look, he knows his big sister.”

It wasn’t so hard, really. Emma kept still, terrified of dislodging the baby somehow, but he seemed happy enough, gurgling to himself and waving a tiny fist.

Tink blew Luke a kiss, and smiled at Emma again before she left.

Hook lingered for a moment, a storm of indecipherable emotion in his blue eyes as he looked at her and Luke. Emma looked back at him, but her eyes kept trying to skip away. She wanted to say something, but Tink had already introduced him to Luke, and she couldn’t seem to think of anything else.

Before she could get her thoughts in order, he smiled, and dipped his head in a brief bow, and followed Tink to join the others at the bar.

And Emma realised that the bar just to happened to be at the exact opposite end of the room of where Gold was sitting.

And that, maybe, _that_ was why Hook had gone straight there.

She sat down on a random chair, lost in her own storm of emotion and decidedly annoyed. It’d be a lot easier, she thought savagely, if they didn’t all insist on being so damn _nice_.

 

*  *  *

 

“Hey,” David told her over lunch on Sunday, “Robin wants to get together for drinks tonight, if you want to come?”

He was being casual about it, but he could never hide his sincerity, or how much he wanted to be a part of her life. Neither could Mary Margaret. It was sweet, but it was also...

It made her want to run.

“Robin?” she echoed, to gain time. “And who?”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. The Merry Men, Ruby, maybe even Regina... whoever wants to go.”

“Right.” Part of her wanted to go. She liked Robin and his cheerful gang of misfits, and bonding over a few drinks and maybe a dart game sounded great to her.

But she shouldn’t. She was leaving. She didn’t want to make friends. It just meant more people to worry about.

“Sorry, not tonight,” she said lamely. “I’m exhausted.”

David looked disappointed, but nodded, and didn’t try to press the matter.

He came into the office on Monday morning, an hour late and with a haggard look on his face that had Emma doing a startled double-take. “About time you—are you _hung over_?”

David just groaned and dropped into his chair, taking a long swig from the coffee he’d brought with him. “Not so loud, please.”

Emma stared. “What happened?”

Her father shook his head. “I’m never drinking rum again.”

“Rum?” Emma echoed, her mind immediately jumping to Neverland and toasts and too much sincerity in too-blue eyes and—

“Yeah. Kil—Hook insisted.”

“ _Hook_ was there?”

David groaned and nodded. “I made the mistake of inviting him.” He didn’t sound like he considered it a mistake. Emma knew how David sounded when he was unhappy with Hook, and this was a far cry from that.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Emma said carefully. She was not at all sure she liked this development. David wasn’t supposed to like Hook. Hook might be charming, and handsome, and even heroic at times, but he was a bad idea. She knew that. And part of the reason why she knew that was because David had been so adamant about it.

David conceded it with another shrug, looking a bit shame-faced. “Mostly I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

Emma’s heart gave a traitorous leap.

David, distracted by pain and regret and introspection, didn’t notice. “And I thought—but he’s not so bad, once you get to know him.” He drained his coffee, and gave her a mock-admonishing look. “And I didn’t say that. I’ll deny I said that.”

 

*  *  *

 

“Y’know, say what you want about him,” Granny declared after Hook had stridden from the diner, letting the door fall shut behind him, “but I do like a man who knows how to wear leather pants.”

Two of her customers, a pair of middle-aged ladies enjoying a late brunch, cheered. Several others laughed, and there was scattered applause.

Emma hated them all.


	2. Chapter 2

She was down at the docks to pick up Henry after another sailing trip when she realised that this time, there weren’t just two figures disembarking from the boat. There was a third: a woman whose red hair glinted in the sunlight, and who was deep in conversation with Hook as they climbed onto the pier.

Emma glared. He was taking other women out while babysitting her kid?

She stalked over to them. The redhead was still talking, in a peppy, excited voice that made Emma’s temper boil. As she approached, Emma recognised her—she’d seen her a couple of weeks ago, in a magic mirror.

Ariel.

Except that Ariel was supposed to be off on some island with Prince Eric, not hanging out on a boat with Emma’s son and Captain Hook.

“Hey,” she said, maybe a little confrontationally.

“Hey Mom!” Henry beamed at her.

“Good evening,” Hook said, smiling at her in that casual, friendly way that made her want to strangle him. His hair was windswept, sticking up at the back. She hated how it did that. She kept wanting to smooth it down. Or make it worse.

Mercifully oblivious to her thoughts, Hook went on, “May I introduce Ariel. Ariel, this is Emma Swan. Henry’s mother. And I believe you know _her_ mother, Snow.”

“I do! Hi!” Ariel burst out, holding out her hand. She was a little shorter than Emma, and very pretty, with sparkling hazel eyes and a wide, genuine smile. “Emma. It’s so nice to meet you!”

Emma took her hand, and tried to hate her. It was difficult. “Hi. I, uh, thought you were back with your prince.”

“I was,” Ariel said. “But then I heard about the curse, and his ship and everything, and I thought I’d come see what this idiot got himself into this time.”

Emma didn’t like that fondly-exasperated tone. Not to mention... “His ship?”

“Aye, but we’ve sorted it all out,” Hook said quickly. “I’m afraid the true tale of how Ariel was reunited with her prince is rather less noble than how it appeared.”

“That’s one way to say it.” Ariel rolled her eyes and gave Emma a conspiratorial look. “Pirates, huh?”

Hook scratched at his neck, looking sheepish. And maybe a little worried, like every word out of Ariel’s mouth had him bracing himself, in case it was something he didn’t want her to say. “Aye, we’re a bad lot, and I’m the worst of them. How about I start making it up to you? Dinner’s on me, as I said, and there’s a charming restaurant a little ways yonder...”

Emma’s insides seemed to be shrivelling up as they said their goodbyes. She left with Henry, who was still excited about the adventure he’d just had, with pirates and mermaids and everything, and tried to focus on her kid.

It didn’t work.

The question of what had happened to the _Jolly Roger_ was one that Hook had been stubbornly refusing to answer. The fact that Ariel knew the answer was nothing short of infuriating.

And the way they’d talked, the obvious shared history they had... Emma wasn’t part of it. Hook hadn’t told her any of that, he’d refused point-blank to tell her anything about the missing year.

Ariel knew. Ariel had been there. Emma knew it.

Not that it mattered. He could share whatever he liked with whomever he liked. He could buy dinner for whomever he wanted. It was none of her business.

She could buy her own dinner, anyway.

 

*  *  *

 

“I need new clothes,” Mary Margaret declared, casting aside a blouse with a disgruntled look. “My old ones don’t fit anymore, and we’ve finally got a little time now. Emma? Are you up for a shopping trip?”

Emma looked up from where she was playing cards with Henry. She was pretty sure he was cheating. She was also pretty sure where he’d learned—and that he was better at it than she was.

Damn the pirate, anyway.

“Uh,” she said, hovering before the ‘yes’. Again, part of her wanted to, but... she was going to leave. Soon. “No, sorry, I don’t think I can.” She was scrambling for an excuse, but Mary Margaret just smiled in that wistful, understanding way of hers, and nodded.

Emma remained locked in a silent battle with herself—wanting one thing, trying to want the other, and full to the brim with frustration over it all.

In the end, she just _happened_ to be swinging by to check up on the alarm system of the clothes store when Mary Margaret was there... only to find that Mary Margaret wasn’t alone. Ruby was with her, and so, to Emma’s complete consternation, was Hook.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she burst out, before anyone had so much as said hello.

Hook raised his eyebrows. “The ladies kindly agreed to let me tag along, and guide me through procuring a new wardrobe.”

Emma realised that he was holding a pair of jeans and a knitted sweater, and a few shirts. Ruby, who seemed to be finding the situation hilarious for some reason, had several pretty blouses draped over one arm and was holding another sweater in her other hand.

“A new... you’re buying clothes?”

He was buying clothes. He was buying jeans, and shirts, and goddamn _sweaters_ , and Emma was not going to sit here and watch as he tried on different ones and asked for opinions and—

“Aye, it’s about time I invested in some local attire,” Hook said, hefting the clothes he had slung over his hooked arm. “These ought to do for now.”

—he was done. She was _not_ going to sit here and watch as he tried on different ones and asked for opinions. And she’d _just_ gotten good and annoyed about the prospect, too, and had the perfect words ready to tell him so.

 _Damn_ him.

Mary Margaret smiled at Hook, then turned the sunny smile on Emma. “I could use your opinion, if you’ve got a minute?”

Emma knew she shouldn’t. But she also knew she didn’t want to leave whatever this was. She already felt like she was missing everything, these days—she wasn’t part of any group, always just watching when David and Robin and Little John shared a joke, or when Mary Margaret and Ruby reminisced about the Enchanted Forest, or when Hook and one of his girlfriends—

Not his girlfriends, she reminded herself.

As far as she knew, anyway.

She cast another look at Ruby. Was she leaning into Hook, or was that just due to the narrow space in the aisle?

“Fine,” she said. “Okay.”

A sales assistant came by moments later, asking if they needed any more help. She was a few years younger than Emma and all smiles, her eyes flicking around and always returning to linger on Hook.

As if she was trying to suss out who, if anyone, he belonged with.

Emma had a sudden, insane urge to smile at him again, to say something funny, some inside joke that would make his eyes light up and his smile turn to her and that spark shoot between them, the one that said they understood each other.

She couldn’t think of anything.

Instead, she gritted her teeth, and followed Mary Margaret into the changing rooms. Ruby came with them; Hook didn’t. She could hear him talking and laughing with the sales assistant, apparently quizzing her about “local attire”. The girl probably found it charming. He was altogether too good at being charming.

Bastard.

By the time Mary Margaret had picked out the tops she wanted, Hook had wandered into the lingerie section, a look of awe on his face. The sales assistant seemed to have come over rather giggly.

“Just that?” he was asking, peering at a lacy black bra. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“There’s no—that’s all of it,” the girl said. “Have you really never seen a bra before?”

“Never,” Hook said absent-mindedly. Emma felt her eyebrows rise. _Never?_ “You’re telling me that _this_ what women in this realm wear?”

The girl giggled again. Way to be professional, Emma thought, glaring at her. “Uh, yep. Yeah. Most of us, anyway. Yep.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Maybe we should have kept an eye on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Ruby was laughing again. “This is hilarious.”

Mary Margaret gave her a reprimanding sort of look before calling, “Hey, Hook. Killian. Are you ready to go, or were you hoping someone would model this for you?”

Emma’s jaw almost dropped. Since when did her mother call him Killian?

Or make comments like _that_?

He turned on his heel, a smirk already at his mouth, but it died as his eyes flicked momentarily to Emma before focusing on Mary Margaret. “Ah, yes. That is, yes, I’m ready to go, no to the other thing.”

Emma was relieved that he didn’t insist on sticking around and making inappropriate remarks. That was why she was relieved. It had nothing to do with realising that he’d never seen a bra before, which probably meant he’d never... not in this realm, anyway, and they’d been in this realm for a while now, and...

It didn’t matter.

 

*  *  *

 

“All right,” Granny admitted, as the door once again shut behind Hook and his now jeans-clad butt. “Maybe it wasn’t the leather pants.”

Ruby laughed. So did several of the patrons.

“He’s _Captain Hook_ ,” one woman said, looking a little reproachful.

An older lady, looking far too distinguished to eat in Granny’s, but a regular nonetheless, sighed. “Captain. Such a _dashing_ title, I’ve always thought,” she said. “There’s just something deliciously dangerous about him, isn’t there?”

Emma glared at her hot cocoa.

 

*  *  *

 

Killian Jones was still a problem, and Emma was pretty sure she’d figured it out.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” She had never been good at diplomacy. She could do subterfuge, just about, but she wasn’t good at saying things she didn’t mean.

Hook cocked his head. “Doing what, sorry?”

“You’ve been hanging out with my parents. And my kid.” Her tone was probably too accusatory for what she was actually saying. Oh well.

“Well, yes,” he said.

“Is this your game?” she demanded. “Befriend my whole family and everyone else so that I have to like you?”

He looked bewildered, and she felt the ground, so righteously steady a moment ago, wobble under her feet. And then his expression shifted into anger. “Believe it or not, Swan, not everything I do is about you.”

“I didn’t say it was,” she said at once.

“I’m not a snake,” he went on, blue eyes flashing, voice rising. “You’ve made your position abundantly clear, and I respect it. I’m befriending people in this town because I want to, because if I’m going to be bloody stuck here then at the very least I won’t do it alone.”

“You could just leave!” The words were out before she could stop them, fuelled by guilt and a weird defensiveness at his admission. Stuck here? He wasn’t stuck here. He couldn’t be.

“You’re the one who wants to leave, as I recall,” he said, voice under control again as he wrestled his temper under control. She didn’t like it; she preferred the fire to the ice. “So it wouldn’t even make sense for me to try and weasel my way into your life, would it? Even if I were so inclined, which, I assure you,” he leaned closer to spit the next words in her face, “I am _not_.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

And he looked good doing it, too.

 

*  *  *

 

The next day, Emma dropped by the library to return some books that Henry should have brought back weeks ago, though between the Wicked Witch and the flying monkeys, Emma thought that they had the world’s best reasons for an exemption from late fees.

The library was empty save for Belle, who was standing at the desk, and Hook, who was just turning away from it. Emma’s heart felt like it was tripping over itself, and she almost turned back for the door. Only the knowledge that they’d both see her before she could get out kept her there.

“Really, Killian, you can just use the door,” Belle said in exasperation. Emma’s eyes narrowed. Did everyone call him Killian now?

“No, thank you. I doubt your husband would appreciate seeing me here.”

Belle rolled her eyes, then noticed Emma. “Hi, Emma.”

Hook turned. He was wearing his new clothes—a dark grey sweater and stone-washed jeans under a black leather jacket—and it should have looked ridiculous, with the hook, but he looked good. Really good. Pang-of-longing good. He’d looked good in the pirate gear, too, but this was... more approachable, somehow. She doubted that he would ever fully blend into a crowd, with his face and his hook and his _presence_ , but he looked like he belonged here now.

And that sweater looked really comfortable. And soft. She wanted to press her cheek against it, burrow into it...

“Swan,” Hook said. He cleared his throat. “How are you?”

Their argument hung between them, awkward and tense. Emma shifted her weight to her other foot.

“Good. Great. Fine.” She crossed her arms, uncrossed them again, and then her curiosity got the better of her. “Were you about to sneak out the window or something?”

Belle made a face. “He insists on using the back door, because he’s a drama queen.”

Hook threw a glare at her. “I am neither royalty, nor female, and you know it.”

“You’re a drama queen,” Belle repeated, amused. “It’s a phrase.”

“Meaning what?” he challenged.

Belle grinned. “People like you. Getting needlessly dramatic over things like going to the library.”

Emma stood there, caught between amusement and surprise and a steadily growing annoyance as they traded quips.

Belle. He was friends with Belle. To the point where he was _Killian_ and she was making fun of him for being dramatic and he teased her about needing a little more drama in her life.

Emma wasn’t even friends with Belle.

And what did that say, exactly, that Belle had befriended the Dark One, and a werewolf, and a man who had shot her, but not Emma?

 

*  *  *

 

And what, Emma thought darkly as she walked along the street, was the point of having a _moniker_ if no one used it? And when had everyone stopped using it? And why was she still using it?

 _She_ had been calling him Killian since New York. He’d _introduced_ himself to her as Killian. If anyone got to call him that, it was she.

So there.

 

*  *  *

 

When Emma got back to the loft, Mary Margaret and David were discussing plans for a night out, and debating whether Belle might be willing to babysit.

“I can babysit,” Emma offered, glancing over at the crib where her little brother was cooing to himself.

“You don’t want to come?” Mary Margaret asked. “Everyone’s going. Well, not everyone, but Ruby, and Tink, and Ashley and Shawn, and Killian, and Rob—”

“No, no, I’m good. Really. I can watch Luke.”

And so, on Friday night, Emma sat in the loft with a sleeping Luke and nothing to do, feeling a little betrayed. They hadn’t even tried to persuade her to go. They had just gone, with kisses for the baby and a goodbye for her, and now they were in the Rabbit Hole with Ruby and Robin and _Killian_ and probably having lots of fun.

Without her.

To her horror, Emma felt tears pricking at her eyes. She swiped at them angrily. She would move back to New York. She would tell her parents tomorrow. Maybe then they’d...

What? Try to stop her?

It occurred to her quite suddenly that if she did go back to New York, it meant this. It meant sitting alone in the apartment on Friday evening. It meant working alone, eating alone, shopping alone.

But it had to be better than this. At least in New York, she wouldn’t constantly be confronted with what she wanted but couldn’t have.

 

*  *  *

 

“I’m thinking of moving back to New York,” Emma said over lunch the next day, as steadily as she could manage.

David and Mary Margaret stared at her, then at each other, than back at her. “What?” David said.

“New York?” Mary Margaret repeated in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because it’s safe?” Emma said. “Because I had a whole life here, and there weren’t any Wicked Witches or flying monkeys...”

 _One flying monkey_ , her conscience reminded her, and she trailed off.

“But...” Mary Margaret looked alarmed now. “But that was before. Now the curse is broken, and we’re all... everything’s back to normal.”

“Why do you want to leave?” David asked, looking thoroughly confused. “I thought—I mean, your whole family is here, Emma. Doesn’t that matter?”

“I don’t fit in here,” Emma said. “I just don’t... I don’t have any friends, I don’t know anyone—I mean, I know everyone, but that’s only because everyone knows you guys.”

“Of course you have friends,” Mary Margaret protested.

“No, I don’t. Everyone else is from the Enchanted Forest and has all these inside jokes and I’m just... different.” Emma was having difficulty putting it into words—mostly because she was also trying hard to avoid saying anything that might give them the wrong impressions.

This was _not_ about Killian. Not even a little bit.

“Maybe,” David said, gentle and hesitant but determined, “if you just tried to join in, you’d be part of it all? I never knew Robin back in our land. Nor Hook, or Tink.”

Part of Emma whispered that he was right. She had been going out of her way to avoid people. But that was because she was leaving, and she didn’t want to bond with people only to leave them.

She knew how much it hurt, to be left.

But no. It wasn’t because she’d been avoiding them. If that were the reason, they would have been upset, or disappointed, or something other than unfailingly polite and smiling and charming whenever they happened to run into her.

“It’s not like that. They don’t want me around—” Emma broke off. The tears were back. She’d thought she’d gotten them all out last night, but apparently, she still had some left, and if she kept talking, they were going to win.

 _Damn_ it.

“ _We_ want you around, Emma,” Mary Margaret said hurriedly, reaching across the table for her hand.

Emma pulled it back. “You do just fine without me.”

“See, that, right there,” Mary Margaret said gently, “that’s what happens. You pull away. And we’re trying to give you space, we are, but that’s what it is. Don’t turn this around on us.”

“Don’t turn it around on me,” Emma fired back. “Ever since Luke came along—”

It wasn’t fair, and she knew it even as she said it. Mary Margaret looked stricken. David glanced at her, and when he turned back to Emma, he looked angry. “That’s _not_ true, and you know it. We’ve been _trying_ to get you to join in. Ruby’s been wondering if she’s doing something wrong, if you don’t like her for some reason. Tink always asks about you. Hook’s—well, I don’t know what’s going on with him...”

“He misses you,” Mary Margaret said softly.

David opened his mouth, his anger briefly diverted as he hesitated, closed his mouth, tried again. “I don’t know if _that’s_ —"

“Oh, come on, David, he’s miserable. Everyone’s got feelings, you know.”

David expelled a sharp breath, and waved the words away. “Whatever. Point is, he definitely wants you around, too. You’re keeping your distance from everyone, and that’s okay, it _is_ , but... I’m sorry, but it’s your choice. It’s not because _we_ don’t want _you_ around.”

Emma tried to stay angry, but the feeling was ebbing away in the face of her father’s words. It was the first time she’d ever had his anger directed at her.

It was the first time she’d felt, really felt, like he was her dad.

She lost the battle with her tears. Mary Margaret was around the table in a flash, putting an arm around her, and Emma didn’t resist. She was tired of resisting. The tears had won, and she let them flow, wetting her mother’s brand new top.


	3. Chapter 3

She wasn’t moving to New York. It had been a stupid idea from the start, prompted by fear and a desire for something to hold onto, something _normal_.

But New York wasn’t something she could hold onto. Everything she’d held onto during the past year had been a lie, born of the curse and Zelena’s machinations.

Everything real, everything she could hold onto, was right here in Storybrooke.

And if she didn’t stop running away from it, she was going to lose it for good.

“I understand why you’re scared of it,” David said, in that gentle, earnest way of his. “But the way to avoid people leaving isn’t to leave them first, it’s to give them a reason to stay.”

Emma shook her head. “And what if I can’t? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then they weren’t the right people,” David said firmly. “If they love you, and you love them, you stay, together. I know that’s a risk. But it _has_ to go both ways.”

Emma swallowed, and nodded.

“For what it’s worth,” David added, “you don’t need to take the first step here. Not with us. And everyone else is taking the same risk, with you, you know?”

Emma nodded again, and the words stayed with her, turning over and over in her mind for a long time.

She’d tried, with Neal, and he’d left. For the longest time, she’d beaten herself up about that, for not seeing it, for trusting him. Now, she knew that she hadn’t missed any signs. There hadn’t been any signs. He hadn’t been planning to betray her.

It didn’t make it okay, but it made it not her fault. It made it easier to trust her gut again. She’d been right every time since.

And Neal was dead. Maybe was time to put his ghost to rest, too.

 

*  *  *

 

Two days later, Emma walked into Granny’s with Henry to meet Regina. It took her a moment to spot the mayor, and when she did, she drew up short. Regina was standing near the back, talking with Robin, Tink... and Killian.

Emma couldn’t help staring. Since when did Killian and _Regina_ get along?

Henry spotted them too, and called out a greeting, clearly happy to see all of them. Regina hugged him, her face lighting up.

“Hello, lad,” Killian said. “How were the dice?”

Henry grinned up at him. “I got _all_ of Grandpa’s M&Ms.”

Killian grinned back. “You’re a quick study.”

Regina glared at Killian. It was a glare that lacked all of its usual heat and looked for all the world like one she might have directed at a troublesome younger brother. “And _you’re_ a bad influence.”

“Aye, but I’m not the only one, am I?” Killian shot back. Tink elbowed him in friendly exasperation. “What? Don’t pretend he isn’t surrounded by reformed bandits and miscreants. No offence, Swan.” He turned to her with a small bow.

“None taken,” Emma said, stupidly relieved to be included.

“What about me?” Robin demanded.

Killian grinned again, irreverent as ever. “ _You_ can have all the offence you like, mate.”

Emma suddenly found herself wishing he hadn’t said anything to her. Wished she’d reacted like Robin, with fake outrage and a teasing smile. Or even like Regina... since when was _Regina_ better at this stuff than she was? When had all these dynamics changed so much?

_Since you decided to keep walking away._

The problem was, she didn’t seem to know how to stop. She had nothing to contribute to the discussion; she didn’t know Robin well enough to joke around with him, Regina didn’t like her, and whatever understanding and ease had been between her and Killian seemed to have disappeared. And Tink...

Tink was standing beside Killian like she belonged there, friendly and open and utterly uncomplicated. Sassy, but never mean. Maybe the most honest, straightforward person Emma had ever met. Emma couldn’t even dislike her.

But she kind of wanted to. And _that_ was petty as hell, and it wasn’t Tink’s fault, and the guilt of it kept Emma’s mouth shut.

After another awkward minute or two, she said goodbye to Henry, waved at Granny behind the counter, and left, feeling like she’d missed an important train and wouldn’t ever catch up.

 

*  *  *

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of frustration. A theft that was solved when it turned out that the handbag in question had simply fallen under the passenger seat, the daily complaint about Leroy, Leroy’s daily report of “suspicious activity” that even David had learned to dismiss by now... Emma gritted her teeth as she drove through the town towards the sea.

There was no need to patrol the docks or the waterfront. At least, there was no need for Emma to get out of the car and walk along the beach and out to the harbour area. But she did it anyway, the sea breeze ruffling her hair, the setting sun bathing the sea and sand in red-golden light. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore a constant, gentle reassurance.

It calmed her down a little.

She’d always wanted to see the sea, as a kid. She’d never played on a beach or swam in the water. She hadn’t done it since moving to Storybrooke, either, and she suddenly wondered why.

 _Didn’t want to get attached_ , said the observant, clever, too-honest part of her.

 _Stupid_ , said the judgmental one.

When she reached the docks and rounded the corner, she ran into Killian Jones.

He was sitting with his back against a low wall, one knee drawn up, one arm draped over said knee, staring out towards the horizon. A book of some kind lay braced on his thigh.

He didn’t look much like a pirate now, in his sweater and jeans and jacket, sitting on solid ground and not the deck of a ship. He looked lost in thought, squinting against the sunlight, and there was something melancholy about the way his shoulders drooped. But the hook was peeking out from one sleeve, and there was still a sword belted at his side, and Emma knew that the pirate would appear in an instant if he was needed.

Emma’s first instinct at seeing him was to turn and run, but he had already turned towards her.

“Swan.” He turned, and she saw that the book was a pad of paper, and that he was holding a piece of charcoal—actual charcoal from a fire, by the looks of it—between blackened fingers. He’d been drawing. A ship, probably _his_ ship, though she couldn’t have said for sure.

 “Hey,” she said.

He looked tired, and windswept, and handsome in spite of it. The late sunlight caught in his hair and set little red-gold highlights into the scruff on his cheeks and jaw.

He made no move to get up, apparently reading from her body language that there was no emergency. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, just—patrol duty. Uhm. Making sure everything’s, you know.” She waved a hand. “Okay.”

She half-expected some quip about having found the only pirate around these parts, but he just nodded and said, “Ah.”

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, before she could stop herself. Even as she asked, she wanted to kick herself. He’d been drawing. She’d never seen him draw before. She didn’t know if it was a hobby, or just a way to pass the time.

Maybe he was meeting someone. Maybe he was being stood up. She didn’t want to know. And she definitely didn’t want him to think that she wanted to know.

“Merely enjoying the peace and quiet,” he said. There was definitely a melancholy about him, lingering in his expression as his eyes drifted back out to the sea. And another possibility occurred to her: maybe he was thinking about his ship. She still didn’t know what had happened to it.

“You okay?” she asked, before she could help herself.

His gaze returned to her, and she saw the longing in his eyes, quickly suppressed as he pressed his lips together in a sad parody of a smile. “Aye. Fine.”

Emma was pretty sure that he was lying. Something was bothering him, and he didn’t want to tell her, and that bothered _her_.

She still didn’t know when exactly Killian Jones had become someone she liked talking to. By all rights, he shouldn’t be. He was provocative, and he asked too many questions, and he was too good at turning the most innocent of phrases into innuendo. But he was good to talk to, and of course, she’d only begun to realise that since he’d stopped.

That sucked. But what _hurt_ was the realisation that he was shutting her out. He’d never done that before. He’d betrayed her, locked her in a dungeon, stolen from her, but he’d never refused to tell her how he felt, or what he thought.

The worst part was that she couldn’t help wondering who he was confiding in instead.

She should probably walk away. But she was feeling off-kilter and she didn’t like it, so she tried again, determined to get _something_.

“Your ship?” she asked, gesturing at the pad.

He looked down at it, then flipped the cover over it, and Emma saw that he must have got it from Granny’s. That explained the thin, low-quality paper. “Aye.”

“I didn’t know you could draw,” Emma said.

He gave her an almost suspicious look at that, but merely shrugged. “I’m rather out of practice.”

“It looked pretty good to me,” Emma tried. “Especially considering the equipment you’ve got to work with.”

It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes flashed. “You do realise that drawing only requires one hand.”

She stared at him, taken aback by the sudden vehemence and change in subject. “What? Yeah, I know—”

“So really, my _equipment_ is perfectly adequate and up to the task,” he snapped.

The tone was raising her hackles, and she crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Okay, what is _up_ with you?”

“I could ask you the same,” he retorted. “Is there a reason for this inquisition?”

“It’s not an—” Emma broke off, annoyed. “Sorry. I thought we were just talking. You asked me first, remember?”

“Aye, well—” He blew out a breath, his expression shuttered. “Swan, I can’t—I really can’t do this right now.”

“Do what?” she demanded, completely bewildered now, and more than a little angry. Something was definitely wrong, and she hated that she still wanted to reach out to him. Her chest was aching.

“ _Talk_ ,” he all but spat. There was a storm in those blue eyes, and some of it was anger, but a lot of it was hurt. “Pretend, and act as though I don’t—”

He broke off, shaking his head, and got to his feet. “Excuse me, I need to be going.”

She didn’t know what else to say. Anger was still fizzling under her skin, and the brush-off made it spark up again. “Fine.” She threw her hands up and backed away. “Sorry I asked.”

And she turned and stormed back the way she’d come. Five steps later, it occurred to her that she should have walked the other way, to finish her patrol, because now it would look like she’d only come to the docks to see him.

But she found that she didn’t care. Let him think what he wanted.

What had _that_ been about? Moping around and being upset and then when she _dared_ ask what was wrong, he yelled at her for it?

To her horror, tears were stinging her eyes, and that only made her angrier. She was not going cry over some idiotic, infuriating _man_ who’d refused to back off when she’d wanted him to, and now that she wanted—

Not that she _wanted_. No.

( _Liar_.)

 

*  *  *

 

“Whoah, what happened?” David asked when she stormed into the station.

“Hook happened,” Emma growled, tossing her keys onto her desk with enough force that they sailed right over the smooth table top and onto the floor. “Oh, for—”

“What’d he do?” David demanded, half-rising from his chair.

“Nothing,” Emma gritted out as she crouched down to recover her keys. “Just—being Hook.”

“Meaning?”

“I ran into him down at the docks,” Emma said, and then she had to keep talking to breeze past the question of why she’d gone down there in the first place. “He was all mopey about something, I asked him what’s wrong, he yelled at me and left.”

David raised his eyebrows, but he sat back down, his suspicions apparently allayed. “He _yelled_ at you? Why?”

“Don’t ask _me_ ,” Emma snapped, dropping her keys onto the desk and throwing herself onto her chair. “Because he’s rude, and insufferable, and—”

“Okay, okay.” David’s eyebrows were still questing for his hairline. “You want me to talk to him?”

The idea of that, of needing someone else to talk to Killian on her behalf, almost brought the tears back. She’d never needed that before. They’d always understood each other. Hell, until recently, she would have been the one trying to mediate between him and David.

“You think you can figure out what his problem is?” she demanded.

David shrugged. “I don’t know. What exactly did he say?”

Emma blew out a breath, and thought back. Part of her wanted to forget the whole thing, but another part of her was stuck on the look on Killian’s face, the nagging feeling that something was wrong, the urge to figure it out. “I don’t know, he—he was drawing, and I was trying to ask him about it. I even said it was pretty good considering what he had to work with, and he snapped at me about how he only needs one hand for it and he’s doing just fine, or whatever. As if I was questioning that, I mean, I _know_ you only need one hand for drawing.”

David had been frowning, but now his face took on a careful expression. “Why did you say ‘considering what he has to work with’?”

“He was using a crappy order pad from Granny’s, and charcoal,” Emma said, but even as she said it, something clicked into place. She closed her eyes. “And he thought I was talking about his hand, didn’t he.”

“I think he might’ve, yeah,” David said.

“Well, he’s an idiot,” Emma snapped, firing up again at the idea that he thought she’d actually say something like that. “Who does he take me for?”

David didn’t say anything, but he had that look on his face that said he wanted to.

“What?” Emma demanded.

“Well,” David said slowly, “remember when you wanted to stop him coming with you to fight Zelena?”

It took a moment, but then Emma remembered, and something icy slid into her stomach. No wonder he’d taken her comment that way. She’d literally said it before. “Oh, for—I didn’t mean that, I...”

She’d been scared. Terrified. And a little angry, too, at the way she constantly found herself in his company. And the way she didn’t hate it.

“I know,” David assured her. “I know. But, look, it’s something I’ve noticed—actually, your mother noticed it, but I think she’s right. It’s easy to forget that he’s an amputee.” He grimaced. “I haven’t always been great about that, myself. _He_ jokes about it, and I don’t think he’s self-conscious exactly, but it isn’t a joke, either.”

“I know that.” But her insides were squirming. What a stupid, thoughtless, tactless thing to say, and all because she’d been scared.

She needed to make that right. He might have annoyed her, he might still annoy her sometimes, but she didn’t want him to think that she thought _that_.

“I messed up, didn’t I?” she asked, her annoyance all but gone, squashed by guilt.

David sighed, and shook his head. “It’s not exactly your fault. It’s gotta be weird for you, with all these fairytale characters, people from stories you grew up with. You don’t question it. I mean, he’s Captain Hook, of course he’s got a hook, right? You don’t think about it... and yeah, sometimes I don’t think about it either. But it’s not just a story. Snow really did eat a poisoned apple, and Killian really did lose a hand.”

Emma swallowed. She knew all of that, of course. But she’d never really stopped to really think about what it meant.

Or to consider what she said, or how she said it. He’d probably taken it as another slight.

It didn’t explain the mood, but it explained the reaction, at least.

“Yeah,” she said. And then, “I need to fix that. How do I fix that?”

David flashed a wry smile. “In my experience? Flowers and an apology.”

“I am _not_ giving Hook flowers.”

“Good,” David said. Then, at her look, he sobered again. “Just apologise.”

Emma made a face. “Yeah, he’d _love_ that.”

David shrugged again. “If he’s smug about it or throws it back in your face, that’s his loss,” he said. “All you can do is your part. If other people want to turn it into some kind of competition where saying sorry means you lose... that’s their problem. You don’t have to play along.”

“Right,” Emma said, not at all sure that he was right.

“My mother always said, own your feelings, and they can’t own you,” David went on. “People can’t use them against you if you’re honest about them.”

“Yes, they can,” Emma said. “If you admit that you care about someone, you’re handing them a weapon.”

They weren’t really talking about apologies anymore, but luckily, David didn’t seem to notice. “You’re also giving yourself one,” he said. “Your mother and I have always been stronger together. I know she’s got my back, and I’ve got hers. And we’ve got yours.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, not to imply—I’m just saying, it takes some strength to be honest, but you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Emma squirmed. “Okay.”

“Oh, come on,” David said, grinning again. “It’s true. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma grumbled, but she couldn’t quite hold back the smile.

David had a point—a few points, actually. So fine. She’d apologise to Killian for the hand thing. She’d clear the air. At least then, it wouldn’t be her fault if he was still snarky or in a mood, and she’d be able to be angry at him again.

 

*  *  *

 

She kept forgetting that while Storybrooke was technically in her world, it was also outside of it. She wasn’t entirely sure how food and other products got into the town, but she knew that while it was an efficient system, it wasn’t big on variety.

The shop—the only shop in town—didn’t have what she needed.

But she was nothing if not resourceful. A few internet searches and several frustrating hours of trying to get her magic to do what she wanted, and she finally had everything, more or less.

She went by the docks the next day, hoping against hope that Killian might be there again, but no such luck. He wasn’t in the library, either. Some part of Emma had known that it wouldn’t be that easy. She knew where he’d be.

And he was, indeed, sitting in a booth in Granny’s. His back was to her, and Tink was sitting across from him, with Ruby leaning against the side of the bench. Emma had to fight back the urge to bolt. She hadn’t considered the possibility of an audience.

But no. To hell with that. She was doing this, and she was doing it properly, and damn the consequences.

She marched right up to his table, saw Tink say something to him as she approached. Ruby straightened a little.

Emma hitched a smile onto her face. “Hey.”

Killian looked up at her with no sign of surprise, but she swore she saw some trepidation on his face, too. “Good morning.”

“Been looking for you,” Emma announced, and maybe she sounded a bit harsh, but she was _doing_ this, damn it.

“Ah.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, which didn’t help her state of mind at all. It was very distracting. “Yes, about yesterday—”

“Yeah, about yesterday.” She cleared her throat. It occurred to her that she should have thought this through a little more, maybe thought of what, exactly, she was going to say. “Look, I think I’ve said some—I mean, I didn’t _mean_ it, but I think maybe it came across like—anyway, I’m sorry.”

It might have been the worst apology in the history of apologies. Emma was profoundly glad that neither of her parents were here to witness it.

Killian looked bewildered. The realisation that an apology from her was so very shocking to him made her feel, if anything, worse. “I think, in retrospect, the rudeness was all mine,” he said after a moment. “I really wasn’t in the best state, though of course that’s no excuse—”

She shook her head, hair flying into her face. She didn’t want to hear that. “No, it’s fine, you were—and I didn’t even _think_ , really. Just, here.”

She all but shoved the bag at him. He took it cautiously, as if worried it might erupt into flame. “What’s this?”

“Just some stuff. You know, for—I thought you might like some, uh, better equipment.” Oh, she was bad at this. She wasn’t usually so bad at this.

But she wasn’t usually being stared at by three people, one of them extremely handsome and still looking more shocked than if she’d hit him. He really needed to stop looking at her like that. Or looking at her at all. But then, she was looking at him, too, willing him to understand what she meant.

 She nudged the bag again. “Go on, I promise it doesn’t bite.”

He finally tore his eyes from hers and looked into the bag. Took out the sketchbook, and the pad of pastel paper, and the box of charcoal and sketching pencils. The look of wonder on his face was, Emma decided, totally worth it.

“Whoah, where’d you find that?” Ruby asked.

“The internet,” Emma said, and left it at that. Technically, it was true. She was _not_ going to tell them that she’d used magic to actually _get_ the stuff, and that it had taken her half the evening.

“Amazing,” Killian muttered, running a hand over the sketchbook. He looked back at her then, blue eyes hitting her like a wave. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Emma said. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “And look, what I said, about why I didn’t want you to come fight Zelena, it wasn’t—it was stupid, and I didn’t mean it. But I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows rose, and if she’d needed any more proof that David had been spot-on, that would have been it. He inclined his head. “It’s all right. I—did rather hope that was the case.”

Relief crashed through her, and she couldn’t help grinning, feeling suddenly lighter than air. “’course it is.”

“Good.” He grinned back. For a moment, they stayed that way, just looking at each other. Silence fell.

“Well, I’ll just—” She made a needlessly complicated gesture back the way she’d come.

“Of course,” he said hurriedly.

“You know,” Tink spoke up, her smile bright and her voice a little louder than usual, “we were just talking about tonight.”

Killian sent her a quelling look, like a teenager whose mother was intent on embarrassing him, but she ignored him and went on, “We’re all heading to the Rabbit Hole later, if you want to come. Or happened to be going that way.”

“Oh,” Emma said, taken aback. She began casting around for an excuse before she realised that was the opposite of what she wanted, and smiled. “Okay. Sounds good.”

She had second thoughts as soon as she left the diner, all the old doubts crowding in on her. But the new lightness inside her seemed to keep them at bay, prevented them from hitting as hard as they usually did. She’d apologised, and she’d probably never admit it to David, but it felt good. It felt like everything was a little more right.

 _That wall of yours - it may keep out pain, but it may also keep out love._ Mary Margaret had told her that a long time ago. At the time, Emma had tried to shrug it off, then taken it to heart... only to lose Graham. His death had seemed like a confirmation that she was better off keeping that wall up, at the time. Now...

Now, she was coming to realise that the wall was the only thing standing between her and everything she wanted. Friendship, family, love, all the things she never thought she could have— _she_ was the one making sure that they stayed out of her reach.

She’d had her reasons for it, of course. If she didn’t let anyone in, they couldn’t hurt her by leaving. Or being swept away by a curse. Or almost being killed by Gold.

That wouldn’t hurt at all. Nope.

_Great job there, Swan._

And on the heels of that thought came her father’s voice: _The right people will stay._

The wall wasn’t working. It had been making her miserable. Time to try something new.

(It was, she’d been told a while back, called trust.)

 

*  *  *

 

“No, no,” Tink said, swaying a little as she held up the dart so Emma could see. “You just reach for it, with magic. Wrap it around it. Then you connect it to the bull’s eye. Visualise it. Let it flow. And then...” She drew back, and threw.

It stuck in the centre of the board, quivering.

“ _That_ ,” Killian said, “is cheating.”

Tink glared at him. Ruby, leaning beside him against the wall, swatted him in the chest. “You’re one to talk.”

“I don’t cheat at darts,” Killian said, indignant.

“Right,” Tink said. “’Cause you _can’t_. Me and Emma, though...” She nudged Emma. “Try it again.”

Emma pressed her lips together. Her magic lessons with Regina had stopped once Zelena had been defeated, and she still didn’t really have a handle on the whole thing. Still, she knew enough for Tink’s instructions to at least make sense.

“Fine.”

She tried it, calling up a tendril of magic, all too aware of everyone watching her. Ruby was smiling; Whale was smirking; Ashley and Shawn were watching with something like awe; Killian was giving her a challenging sort of look, like he was daring her to do what he knew she could do.

She wrapped the magic around the dart, feeling it flow into the metal tip. Then she cocked back her arm, and threw.

Straight into the bull’s eye.

“Yes!” Tink yelled. She jumped in place once, then threw her arms around Emma. “Yes!”

Emma hugged her back awkwardly, smiling despite herself, more at Tink’s enthusiasm than anything else. Killian laughed, whether at the look on Emma’s face or in triumph or at Tink, Emma couldn’t be sure. She did know that it made his eyes sparkle and his voice lose some of its usual gruffness. She rather liked the effect.

 _Cheating_ , she thought, but didn’t want to dwell on what he was cheating at.

He looked unfairly good, too. Dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt, one sleeve rolled up to his elbow and the other one wrapped around his brace, he made for an odd mix of modern and pirate that she still wasn’t used to. One thing hadn’t changed: the shirt wasn’t buttoned properly, showing off a generous expanse of skin dusted with dark hair, and the charms he still wore around his neck.

Emma hadn’t bothered dressing up much, partly out of defiance, partly because she didn’t want anyone getting it into their heads that she’d made an effort. It was just a night out with friends. There was no need to get all dolled up.

Somehow, she didn’t think it would have made a difference, anyway.

“Another round!” Tink called as she disentangled herself from Emma, and Killian caught Emma’s eye and grinned, shaking his head at Tink’s antics.

She grinned back as another jolt of that light feeling from earlier, or something very like it, spread through her.

The feeling vanished as Ruby dragged him off towards the bar to procure another round of drinks before Emma could say anything. When they returned, Ruby held out a glass of orange juice with an apologetic expression. “Killian said you’re not drinking, so blame him for this.”

“No, that’s right,” Emma said quickly. She was driving, and she had said that she wasn’t going to get even a little tipsy. She hadn’t expected anyone to remember. “Thanks.”

“Cheers, then,” Killian said, slinging an arm around Ruby as he raised his glass. “To the mistress of darts, cheater though she is.”

“You are _so_ jealous,” Ruby said with a laugh. Emma opened her mouth to deny it, before realising that she was talking to Killian.

Right. The darts thing.

“I am _not_ ,” Killian protested, leaning away from her a little so he could look down at her. “I’m simply making a toast.”

“Fine then,” Emma said, propelled by defiance and maybe also the wish that he’d take his arm from around Ruby’s shoulder. “Let’s go, you and me, no magic.”

He gave her an appraising look, almost covering his surprise. “All right. Challenge accepted.”

It was not the fairest darts contest that Emma had ever taken part in. Killian had drunk far more than she had, but he was also a walking, talking distraction. And he had several hundred years’ practice on her.

Still, it got him away from Ruby. And she lost more narrowly than she’d expected.

And she wouldn’t have minded _that_... if Tink hadn’t thrown herself into Killian’s arms in celebration.

What _was_ it about the guy, anyway?

Killian was still busy being smug, smirking at her past Tink’s head, and Emma glared at him and pretended that it was only about the darts. Which it was.

Damn it.

 

*  *  *

 

“Fairies,” Killian said a while later, as he half-carried Tink out of the Rabbit Hole, “are lightweights.”

“She drank quite a bit,” Emma said, holding the door open.

“She can tolerate more than most,” he agreed. “But even so—a cheap drunk.”

“ _Yurra_ sheep drunk,” Tink slurred against his chest.

He chuckled. “I don’t know what’s ovine about me, darling, but whatever you say.”

Tink snorted. “You know ‘ _zackly_ whass so fine about you.”

Killian barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Touché. Where’s your vessel, then, Swan?”

Thinking dark thoughts about his vocabulary and ability to still use said vocabulary after several beers, Emma led the way to her car, which she’d parked in a side street.

“In you get, my little lamb,” Killian said with a grin, depositing Tink into the passenger seat. Emma’s gut curdled at the endearment, even as she told herself that it was a joke, just another dumb joke.

“I’m a fairy, you idiot pile—pir—pirate,” Tink said, annoyed, and then, “Is—izzis Emma’s car?”

“Yep,” Emma said, sliding into the driver’s seat and wishing they would both stop talking. Why had she volunteered to take Tink home, again? Killian would have done it. He’d been taking care of Tink for the past half hour. He would have seen her safely home.

Oh. Right. That was why she’d volunteered.

Well, that, and because Tink had taught her how to cheat at darts and it had felt a lot like making friends, for a while.

At least until she’d slumped against Killian’s chest. Not that Emma could blame her. It was a nice chest.

Tink scowled. “What’sis?” Killian was trying to fasten the seat belt around her.

“It’s for safety,” he explained.

“I don’t want it,” Tink protested, shoving half-heartedly at his arm. “Gerr _off_ , Hook.”

“I got it,” Emma said, reaching for the seat belt buckle. Killian handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. She swore she could feel it all the way to her toes.

Tink was slumped in the seat now, eyes closed and breathing deeply and rather loudly. Killian was still hunkering beside her, one arm slung over the door. “Out like a light,” he commented.

“Yeah.” Emma cleared her throat. Her skin was still tingling where it had touched his. “Well, see you.”

He looked up then, his eyes meeting hers with a jolt. He hesitated, the moment dragging out between them, and Emma could have sworn that she could see the words forming on his lips, that he was about to say something, something stupid and suggestive like he used to...

“Aye,” he said. “Have a good night.” He stepped away smartly, and closed the door.

As she drove away, she glanced in the rear view mirror to see him still standing there, his rings catching glints from the nearby streetlight as he flexed his fingers absently.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Emma saw Ruby, she was making a cappuccino for a customer and shot Emma a bright grin when she saw her. Emma smiled back, a cautious kind of relief spreading through her.

“Oh, it’s one of those days,” the lady waiting for the cappuccino said, apparently in response to Granny’s question. “I only have to walk back to the office, and all I want to do is collapse onto a chair and not get up for at least an hour.”

“In Agrabah, they carry women around on chairs,” Ruby piped up cheerfully. “We should do that here.”

“How would you know what they do in Agrabah?” Granny asked irritably.

“Hook told me,” Ruby said with a grin that was only a little smug. “He’s been there loads of times.”

 “He probably made it up,” Granny said with a scoff.

“No, he didn’t,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes.

“Hook, was it?” said the cappuccino lady, who had perked up at the name. “Seen much of him lately, Ruby?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, fitting the lid onto the to-go cup. “He lives here.”

“Lucky girl,” the woman commented with a speculative smirk.

Emma’s jaw hurt. She forced herself to unclench it.

Up until recently, that was the sort of comment people had made about her. Or _to_ her, about Killian.

Granny was looking at her. With an effort, Emma stood up a little straighter, and tried to look like the last thing she cared about was the matchmaking tendencies of Storybrooke’s citizens.

Ruby handed over the cappuccino, and kept her smile in place until the woman had left, leaving Emma alone at the counter.

“Been telling you _stories_ , eh?” Granny asked, giving Ruby a nudge. “Well sheesh, you might as well start planning the wedding.”

Ruby made a face. “Don’t you start.” She turned to Emma with an apologetic smile. “Hey. Sorry. What can I getcha?”

“Grilled cheese and two coffees,” Emma said, relieved when her voice came out more or less normal. “Uh, everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby said, shaking her head with almost exaggerated motions as she turned again to make the drinks. She looked a little furtive, almost guilty. “You know how it is. Can’t talk to a guy without half the town gossiping about it.” She gave an airy laugh.

_I can_ , Emma thought darkly, but what she said was, “Right. Guess that’s one of the downsides to living in a small town.”

“Tell me about it,” Ruby said with a sigh. Her eyes seemed to be searching for something in Emma’s face, her smile almost determined in its brightness now.

When she handed Emma her order a few minutes later, there was a bear claw in the bag. “On the house,” she said with another bright grin. “Have a good day. And say hey to David for me.”

Emma left the diner with her insides in turmoil, her order clutched a little more tightly than necessary. She needed to get a grip on this... whatever this was. She’d finally managed to get back to a point where she was included in the friendly chats and the banter, and getting resentful towards Ruby was only going to ruin that. And accomplish nothing.

But it had always been _Emma_ rolling her eyes and fielding those comments. It had always been Swan and Hook, Emma and Killian, the Savior and the pirate.

The worst was the realisation that she’d got used to it. Regina casually calling Killian her boyfriend, Neal’s constant jealousy, Zelena taunting both her and Killian about their alleged feelings for each other, David’s protective warnings, Mary Margaret’s careful questions, Granny’s knowing smirks. She’d scowled at all of it, rolled her eyes, snapped back, but that, too, was something that she’d just become used to.

No one was doing that anymore. And she didn’t miss it, but... she kind of did.

As annoyed as she had been at times, as much as she had told Killian that she wasn’t in the mood and it was not the time, she hadn’t really expected him to just... stop.

But he had.

Because she’d told him to. Or rather, he thought she’d told him to.

It hadn’t occurred to her until now that he might actually just... move on. Yeah, he’d backed off, he’d said that he was leaving her alone, but she hadn’t really thought about him finding someone else. Flirting was one thing, he’d always done that and always would, but the thought of all those earnest looks, all that Killian Jones intensity, directed at someone else...

It was stupid, she told herself. Beyond stupid. She had no claim on him. If he was getting over her, fine.

She’d just never thought that there was anything to get over.

She’d never realised that there was anything there that she might want to keep.

It was dawning on her now, inexorably, like the tide creeping up the shore.

_Too late._

 

*  *  *

 

Regina, to Emma’s surprise, seemed to be expanding the circle of people she trusted with Henry. The latest addition was Robin Hood. That wasn’t really a surprise, given that the two of them were definitely dating in an open-secret sort of way these days, except... it was _Regina_. Regina usually made Emma’s hang-ups look like minor speed bumps in comparison.

But here she was, all but openly declaring that she trusted Robin with her heart.

Maybe it was a fairytale-character thing, Emma thought as she ran into Robin and the boys in the park. Maybe Regina was more susceptible to the whole love-and-trust thing than she wanted to admit, despite her protestations and reservations.

Emma came to a stop, taking in the scene before her. Roland was chasing after his father with a wooden sword, while Little John was demonstrating some sword drills to Henry.

“Emma!” Robin called, coming to a stop and swinging Roland into his arms as the boy ran up to him. “Coming to join us?”

The refusal was on the tip of her tongue when she remembered that she had no reason for it.

She shrugged, and smiled, and spent the next hour sparring with Henry while Little John gave them pointers and corrected their form.

Two more of Robin’s men showed up after a while, and Emma went over to say hi.

“You’ve met Alan and Mitch, right?” Robin asked.

“Yeah.” Emma hadn’t spent much time around the Merry Men since their hunt for Little John, but she knew their names by now. Mitch was tall, pale, and red-haired, with a shy smile and a slight hunch to his shoulders; Alan was shorter, dark-skinned and good-looking, and anything _but_ shy.

“Emma, wasn’t it?” Alan said with a wide smile. He was holding out his hand; when she reached out to shake it, he swept it up to brush a kiss over her knuckles instead. “A pleasure, milady.”

“I’m sure it is,” Emma said wryly, giving him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing. She knew a charmer when she saw one, and Alan of Dale was definitely a charmer.

Robin slapped Alan on the shoulder, grinning. “Why couldn’t you have cosied up to the sheriff back home?”

Alan scowled at him. “’cause I don’t swing that way.”

Mitch put a hand to his heart. “ _What?_ You said our love was true.”

“Oh, you know I make an exception for you, darling.” Alan blew him a kiss.

Mitch shook his head and turned to Emma. “You see what he’s like? Don’t believe a word he says.”

Robin made a face. “Sorry about these two, Emma. Can’t take them anywhere, I’m afraid.”

But Emma wasn’t sorry. Much like John and Robin himself, Mitch and Alan were friendly, and charming in that easy-going way, and maybe a little more given to mischief than their leader.

They accepted her as one of their own the moment Emma took up a sword and tossed Alan’s challenge right back at him. It was easy to get along with them, easy to join the banter and the friendly insults, safe in the knowledge that no one would take it personally. They were hardy like that, much like Emma herself, and it _worked_.

As they said their goodbyes later, Robin ruffled Henry’s hair, and grinned at her. _Welcome_ , his expression seemed to say, _to the family._

 

*  *  *

 

“I stopped to talk to that fairy and her pirate,” the man told Emma, brow furrowed as he tried to retrace his steps and help her figure out where Mrs Havisham’s _dumb_ bloody purse had ended up this time. “Tinkerbell and, you know. The guy with the hook.”

“You mean... Hook?” Emma asked archly, trying not to glower at the guy. _Her_ pirate?

“Right, that’s the one.” He gave her a benignly concerned look. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Emma gritted out. Killian wasn’t Tink’s pirate. He wasn’t anyone’s anything. He was a _person_ , a dumb, annoying, stupid, amazing—

“I’m fine. Please, go on.”

 

*  *  *

 

Emma generally did her best to avoid regrets. She figured that you did the best you could in any given situation, and if it went wrong, at least you knew you’d done your best. She tried not to dwell on the what-ifs and could-have-beens.

Regret was clawing at her now, though.

She hadn’t lost Henry, or her parents. She’d managed to salvage her friendships, and even started to form new ones. She didn’t regret her decision to stay here, not even a little.

But then... there was Killian.

He still terrified her. Or rather, the thought of being with him terrified her. Friendship was one thing, but romance—love—was quite another.

But the thought of him moving on... she knew she hadn’t done the best she could here. And all those what-ifs and could-have-beens, and the knowledge that they would linger with her for a long time, was more terrifying than anything else.

Her first instinct was to just give up on it all, to forget about it. To run.

But maybe she’d spent too much time fighting. Maybe she’d _won_ too often. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t seem to just let it go.

 

*  *  *

 

Henry had caught the sword-fighting fever, and David was not content to sit by and let the Merry Men do all the teaching. The plan for Saturday was sparring and a picnic in the park, with Grace, Ava, and Nicholas—and Killian.

“He’s changed his tune, huh,” Emma remarked casually when David had herded an excited Henry out the door before following with one last bright smile.

“What d’you mean?” Mary Margaret asked, pausing in between clearing away the remnants of breakfast.

“About Hook,” Emma clarified, piling the plates together.

“Oh.” Mary Margaret gave a little laugh. “Well, he _says_ it’s because he’s changed, but I think it helps that he’s stopped looking at you like—well, you know.”

A knife slid from Emma’s grasp, clattering against the plates before bouncing down onto the ground. She bent to retrieve it, glad of the excuse to hide her face as her heart tripped and stumbled through her chest.

“Emma! You okay?” Mary Margaret asked in alarm.

“Yeah, fine!” Emma grabbed the knife and straightened, holding it up as if for evidence. “All good.”

“Uh-huh.” Mary Margaret had one of those looks on her face now, one of those thoughtful, insightful ones that usually meant trouble. “How do _you_ feel about that?”

Emma carried the dishes over to the counter and set them down with a _thunk_. “I don’t care how he looks at me.”

“Or how he looks at anyone else?” Mary Margaret pressed.

Emma whirled around. “Who?”

Mary Margaret just looked at her, a knowing expression edging onto her face, and Emma knew she was busted.

“Don’t,” she said, exasperated. “It’s not—I know you think I need love and romance to be happy, but I don’t.”

“I don’t think that.” Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think you need to fall in love in order to be happy. Of course you don’t. I just think—I know—that if it’s there, and you try to run from it or forget it, that hurts.”

“In my experience, it hurts anyway.” Emma held up her hands before her mother could say anything. “Look, I’m not you, okay? I don’t have your—I don’t know, that idealism, or faith in people. We don’t all get what you and Dav—Dad have.”

Mary Margaret nodded. For a moment, Emma thought she had given up on the conversation, and had just enough time for a new regret before her mother spoke again.

“You know, when I met David, he was engaged to someone else. I knew it would be stupid to fall for him.” Mary Margaret tilted her head to the side, a wistful smile edging onto her face. “But it happened anyway. We just... clicked. So I ran away and tried to forget him.”

Emma frowned. She hadn’t heard that part of the story before. “Yeah? I take it that didn’t work.”

“No.” Mary Margaret huffed out a laugh. “You saw how well it went back when—well, you know. During the curse, here.”

“Yeah.” Emma remembered that all too well. The frustration of watching Mary Margaret follow her heart again, the resigned expectation that it would get broken, the helpless anger when it did.

“I took a memory potion to forget him,” Mary Margaret said. “And it worked, and I was miserable. So really...” She shook her head. “Of course there’s always a chance that David will hurt me. He _did_ hurt me, during the curse. But it’s a _chance_. If I run, if I close myself off... it’s a sure thing.”

It made sense. It was the same thing Emma told herself at times, really, except better-put and with a lot more acceptance behind it.

“I also know,” Mary Margaret went on, “that if I do get hurt... I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt before. I’ve lost people I love. And I survived, I got through it. I don’t want to do it again, but I know I _can_ , and that’s important.”

_Oh_. Emma looked away, fingers playing with the collar of her sweater. “I guess I never looked at it like that.”

“I didn’t either, for a long time. But that’s what it came down to. Do I walk away and get hurt for sure? Or do I stay, and try, and fight, for what I want?” Mary Margaret spread her arms, indicating the loft, the sleeping baby in the crib, David’s shirt flung over the back of the couch, Emma’s boots piled beside the door. “It’s been worth it.”

“Yeah.” It was hard to speak. She didn’t really trust herself to. She wasn’t sure what would come out if she tried.

“And I know you don’t want to hear this,” Mary Margaret went on with one of those soft, too-understanding smiles, “but I’ve seen you fight. You tend to win.”

Emma had to swallow. Twice. There seemed to be something caught in her throat.

“You know, I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Sure.” That was all her mother said. Understanding—really _understanding_ , these days, Emma had to admit.

She swallowed again, and left.

 

*  *  *

 

She had no destination in mind, really. She just needed to walk, to move, to leave the loft and all that—emotion.

Storybrooke offered a limited amount of things to do on a Saturday, so she just walked. She stopped by the bakery, to pick up the donuts that she knew David wouldn’t dare bring on a picnic. Enough for seven people, not that she was counting, or planning to go anywhere in particular.

She just walked along the road.

And the road just happened to lead to the park.

And the park just happened to be where other people were.

The first thing she saw was Killian Jones, in billowing shirtsleeves and jeans, reaching over to correct the angle of Henry’s sword. Henry nodded, a look of earnest—and adorable—concentration on his face as he shifted his stance a little. Nearby, David was standing beside Grace, demonstrating a parry. Ava and Nicholas were between them, wooden swords in their hands, watching Killian.

“And make sure it’s pointed at my head,” Emma heard Killian tell Henry as she drew closer. “You’re aiming to stab me right in the skull.”

Henry grinned, and nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he hefted the wooden sword in his hands. “Right.”

Killian scowled at him. “No need to look so happy about the prospect, lad.”

Henry laughed. A moment later, so did Killian, his stern expression dissolving into mirth. Warmth unfurled in Emma’s chest again at the sight of it, the easy way Killian talked to her kid, Henry’s comfort with him.

 “Mom!” Henry had noticed her, and waved his sword at her. “What’s in there?”

He was looking at the box of donuts she was carrying. Emma shook her head. “You got your priorities figured out, huh, kid?”

Henry grinned. “Yep. Did you bring donuts? It’s donuts, right?”

Emma shook her head, in amused exasperation rather than denial. She caught Killian’s eye in the process, and he was smiling, too.

“Chin up, Swan, he’s all of twelve,” he said. “It’ll get worse within the year, I’d wager.”

“Thanks,” she told him, her lips twisting wryly.

Between the donuts and Henry’s excitement over the new moves he was learning, no one asked her what had brought her here to begin with. She didn’t join in at first, but she quickly realised that sitting by and watching meant that her eyes kept flying back to Killian.

He was in his element, twirling the sword casually, demonstrating to Henry how to stand, how to step with a cut, and how to throw his body weight behind a cut by twisting his hips. Every movement sure and confident and smooth with decades, centuries, of practice.

He was wearing one of his black pirate shirts. Tucked into jeans. Half the buttons undone. It shouldn’t have looked as good as it did.

She lasted ten minutes, then she went over to join her father and Nicholas in a desperate attempt to keep her eyes off Killian and his hips and his arms and that stupid, radiantly proud grin when Henry got a move right.

It worked, though only until the kids had had enough and called a halt, and talked David and Killian into a proper sparring match.

“It’ll show us what it’s supposed to look like,” Henry said earnestly.

“You know you want to,” Ava sing-songed, with a bright, cheeky grin at David.

The two men took up positions, David trying to look put-upon, Killian just looking delighted. Their fighting styles showed their backgrounds from the start; Emma was far from an expert, but she could tell that David’s approach was a lot more honourable and by-the-book than Killian’s. Killian fought with flair and trickery and a determination that bordered on ruthless.

And he looked good doing it. He had rolled up his sleeves, so she could see the muscles flex under the tanned skin of his right forearm, catch a glimpse of tattoos on the narrow strip between the end of his brace and the rolled-up sleeve on the other. His hair was a riot, his cheeks flushed, and his blue eyes sparked with challenge and pure enjoyment.

He moved with fluid grace and quick precision, striking and parrying, driving David back and retreating in turn. They circled, blades always moving, looking for openings. Emma couldn’t look away. Usually, she’d been too preoccupied with other things—such as, well, fighting him—to really appreciate him in action, but now... He was magnificent. There was no other word for it. She’d die before ever saying it, but there it was.

She was starting to suspect that it didn’t matter what he wore, or what he did to his hair.

She had wondered, before, how it was in _Neverland_ that he’d decided to do something about his attraction to her. If she was honest, she would have expected the whole ordeal to put him off. She’d been sweaty and gross and splattered with mud, she’d worn the same clothes for days, and they hadn’t been nice clothes to begin with. How could it possibly be that he wanted more than ever before to pursue something with her, rather than being put off?

She thought that she might have the answer to that, now that she really thought about it.

And it was not, as she’d told herself before, boredom or desperation or anything of the sort.

_Oh, hell._

Killian won after a few minutes, with a move that Emma knew had to be dirty. David shot him an indignant glare. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Fair doesn’t win fights,” Henry piped up, and Killian beamed at him.

“No need to ask who told you _that_ ,” David growled, shaking his head as he threw himself onto the grass beside Henry.

Emma wanted to say something—to tease Killian about turning her kid into a pirate, or point out that Henry had plenty of banditry and thievery in his lineage anyway—but it felt like too much. Stepping too close.

It was bad enough seeing the easy, familiar, _fond_ way in which Killian treated Henry. It hit her then, as David took out the packed lunch he’d brought and they all tucked in: she wanted this. She wanted to be part of it, not by accidentally-on-purpose coming across it, but properly. Her dad, her kid, and her—

Nothing. He wasn’t _her_ anything.

But she was starting to suspect that it’d be really damn good if he was.

Not that it mattered. He was over it.

Some part of Emma’s brain, a too-honest part that had been rearing up more and more often since she’d arrived in Storybrooke, played a film of all the glances he’d given her lately, the longing in his eyes at the docks the other day, the smile when she’d given him the sketchbook. _Sure he is,_ said a voice at the back of her mind. It was snickering.

“Donuts?” Henry said hopefully, once he’d devoured his sandwich, and Emma grabbed the box.

“So much for a healthy lunch,” David said, mock-resigned, as she opened it to reveal the bounty within.

“I’m sure you don’t _have_ to partake,” Killian said.

“Yeah, there’s absolutely no pressure,” Emma agreed.

“Mhmm. I think you’ll find there are plenty of volunteers who’ll get rid of it for you, mate.”

“Right, so you won’t even be tempted, if you want to be healthy.”

David glared, first at Killian, then at Emma. “I don’t like it when you guys team up.”

Emma couldn’t help laughing. Killian grinned, and winked at her. There was a light sheen of sweat on his chest, and his forehead, and he was still a little flushed. From the fight.

Somewhere in her mind, the voice snickered again.

She passed out the pastries—a chocolate-glazed donut for Henry, a jelly donut for David, and a berry-filled croissant for Killian.

“I wasn’t sure what you guys like, so I got you the same as Henry,” she told the other three, who smiled broadly and thanked her. Emma took her bear claw, and flattened the box.

Killian was looking at her, something like surprise on his face. His eyes were searching, bright and blue and seeing too much.

She raised her eyebrows in silent question. He shook his head, and a smile chased everything else off his face. He lifted the croissant. “Thank you.”

It didn’t hit her until she’d polished off the bear claw and was watching the kids debate one of the plot points in _Pirates of the Caribbean_ that she realised what she’d inadvertently told Killian, just there.

She’d known what to get him.

 

*  *  *

 

That evening, she walked into the Rabbit Hole and was immediately hailed by a group of the Merry Men.

“Emma,” Alan called, a wide smile on his face. “I _thought_ the room just lit up.”

“It’s called electric light,” Emma told him drily.

“Ah, but your beauty makes it that bit brighter,” Alan said smoothly.

“That’s just you talking it up,” Emma shot back.

Alan laughed and tugged her against his side for a brief hug. “How are you, darling?”

“Fine. You? And don’t,” she said, holding up a hand, “say all the better for seeing me.”

Mitch burst out laughing. “She’s stealing all your best lines, mate.”

“Lines?” Alan echoed, levelling an offended look at his friend. “How dare you.”

“Yep, he only speaks the truth,” Emma said earnestly. “It’s not his fault he’s surrounded by so much beauty.”

They all laughed at that, Alan more than anyone. He knew that she saw through him, and somehow, that seemed to only spur him on. She’d wondered about that—worried that maybe he enjoyed the challenge—until she’d realised that it made her _safe_. He could flirt with her all he liked, without having to worry that she would take it seriously.

It made them friends.

Alan straightened a little, glancing to his right. “Ah, here comes trouble.”

Killian and Tink were making their way over, Robin just behind them. Killian raised an eyebrow, his eyes sweeping from Alan to Emma and back. “Trouble? One might suspect you had a guilty conscience, mate.”

“Of course he’s got a guilty conscience, he’s a bandit,” Tink said with a grin.

“We’re _redistributors_ ,” Alan corrected, eyes glinting with mischief. “ _You_ , on the other hand, are trouble.”

“Slander,” Killian said, letting his eyes widen. “Aren’t there laws about that sort of thing hereabouts? Swan?”

Emma managed a casual shrug. “Yep.”

“Good thing I’m friends with the sheriff then,” Alan quipped, grinning again. Killian’s brow creased ever so slightly, eyes narrowing just a little as he looked at Alan.

“Stop saying that,” Robin broke in, making a face. “It sounds weird.”

“And stop trying to use me to pull rank,” Emma added, giving Alan a shove on the arm. “That’s not friendship.”

“You need to broaden your horizons, darling,” Alan told her airily. “Right, we need drinks. C’mon, Mitch, give me a hand.”

Half an hour later, Emma was leaning back against the wall, watching Killian play pool. He was losing to a quietly-smug Belle with reasonably good grace, but Emma wasn’t keeping score. There was something mesmerising about the way he was using his hook to brace the cue. The way his vest rode up at the back, tugging his shirt free of his pants, as he leaned over the table. The look of concentration on his face as he lined up his shot.

“If you stare any harder, you’re going to burn a hole in his pants,” Alan’s voice broke into her thoughts. Emma jumped, and snapped her head up to look at him. He was grinning again.

“I wasn’t—” she started.

“Staring at the pirate booty? Sure you weren’t,” he said, leaning against the wall next to her. He grinned at her expression—she could feel herself blushing, damn it all—and winked. “Hey, I won’t tell anyone. I get it. You should see me when Yvonne’s around. Pathetic, really.”

It wasn’t the first time Emma had heard the name, but it was the first time she felt like she could ask. “Who is she?”

Alan’s smile softened from mischievous to something very different. “My lady love,” he said. “The most amazing woman I know. Sees right through all my nonsense. You’d like her.”

“Yeah?” Emma hesitated. “Where is she?”

“Back home.” Alan shrugged. “There was no time, before the curse. And I had to go with Robin. The Wicked Witch was threatening everyone, and I had to—but she stayed behind, and I’ve not seen her since.”

“Oh.” Emma took a breath. She hadn’t expected that. He was always so carefree, cheerful... “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alan shrugged again. “We’ve been separated before. It never lasts.  Wouldn’t put it past her to figure out a way before I do, and show up someday, lecturing me about taking too long.” He looked wistful now.

A glint of blue caught her attention, and Emma looked up to find Killian’s eyes on her. He wasn’t scowling, but she could tell that he wanted to. He had that look about him, the one that said that something was bothering him and he was trying not to show it—or let it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d caught a look like that, and it was beginning to bother her. What was his problem now?

“If I didn’t know any better,” Alan muttered, leaning closer to her, “I’d say _someone_ is jealous.”

Emma bristled, about to deny it, when he went on, “He’s really got that dark smoulder thing down, doesn’t he?”

“What?” Emma shook her head. Killian was a lot of things, but jealous he was not. “No, he—that’s not—”

There was a loud _clunk_. Killian had taken a shot—taken it so violently that the cue ball had all but exploded into two others, sending one of them off the table to the ground, and the other careening wildly around the table.

And Emma realised that she _had_ seen that look on Killian before.

When Neal had been around.

Trying to ignore the way her heart was hammering against her ribs all of a sudden, Emma cleared her throat. She hadn’t realised until right now what it might look like, hanging out with Alan and the others. The idea that Killian might think—might _care_ —that it meant something hadn’t even occurred to her.

But if it bothered him, then that meant... well, maybe it meant... that he still...

_Serves him right_ , was the first thought. He’d been spending plenty of time with other women, after all, smiling and flirting and—

_Not_ moving on. So maybe it wasn’t too late.

But if she tried to play games, it would be. She knew Killian well enough to realise that if she started trying to make him jealous on purpose, she’d be turning this into a competition that they were both too stubborn to lose.

She needed to set the record straight.

“Actually, uh, speaking of Hook,” she said, her mind working fast. “He’s done the realm travel thing before. A few times. Maybe he can—maybe he knows a way. You should ask him.”

Alan cocked an eyebrow. “You _want_ me to die by pirate death glare, don’t you?”

“He’s not—” Emma rolled her eyes. “Fine. _I’ll_ ask him. Come on.”

Killian was just passing his cue to Ruby, still looking disgruntled, as Emma dragged Alan over to him.

“Killian.”

His eyes snapped from her, to Alan, then back, a guarded expression on his face. “Hello.”

“You got a minute, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “We were hoping you could help with something.”

His mouth twisted, like he wanted to say something snarky or suggestive. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s about realm travel.” Emma didn’t let herself pause. “Alan’s trying to find a way to get back to his girlfriend, back in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Girlfriend?” Killian said, his brows drawing up.

“My sweetheart,” Alan said with a slightly confused look at Emma. Apparently, _girlfriend_ wasn’t a term they used in the Enchanted Forest. “My lady love. Yvonne.”

“I—see.” Again, Killian’s gaze skipped between them, apparently still trying to figure out what was going on. “What happened, if I might ask?”

“The curse separated us,” Alan said simply. “I’ve been trying to find a way back.”

“Ah.” Killian swallowed, a haunted look passing over his face. “Aye, that’s—my sympathies. You must miss her.”

Alan nodded. “I do.”

Killian pursed his lips briefly, then blew out a sigh. “I’m afraid most of my travels have involved a magic bean. And I don’t know how to get my hands on one of those from here. There weren’t any left, as I recall.”

He was looking at Emma now. She shook her head. “Greg and Tamara took the last of them. But maybe Anton can grow more.”

“Aye.” Killian frowned, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly. Emma followed the movement with her eyes as dark strands of hair slid through his fingers, muscles flexing briefly as he gave his hair a tug.

She’d managed to resist doing that, the one time she’d kissed him, but her fingers itched to do it now. To feel that dark hair under her own fingers, find out what he’d do if she tugged at it—

“Wait,” Killian said, his expression lightening. “I do know someone who might be able to help. Ariel.”

Emma cleared her throat, trying to look like her mind was still on magic beans and realm travel. “How’s that?”

“She’s a mermaid. She can traverse realms without any magical means. She can’t take anyone with her, but she can transport objects. Messages, even.”

Alan’s eyes lit up. “That would be great. D’you think she would be willing?”

“To help two lovers reunite?” Killian scoffed. “You wouldn’t be able to stop her.”

“Where is she?” Emma asked.

Killian shrugged. “Off with her prince, spreading hope or knitting scarves or whatever those do-good true love types do together.” The mention of Eric didn’t seem to bother him as he went on, “But I have a way to contact her.”

“You do?”

“Aye.” He shrugged again, now looking almost embarrassed. “She seemed to think I’m inclined to get into trouble.”

Translation: Ariel cared about him, and he didn’t want to acknowledge or admit it. That was something Emma understood. “She’s not wrong,” she said, trying a grin.

He scowled. “Only because I spend too much time with you.”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for your recklessness.”

“No, I can blame you for _your_ recklessness, which you insist on dragging me into.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works—”

“You know what, you two have fun with whatever _this_ is,” Alan broke in, waving a finger between them, his eyes sparking. “Just let me know about the mermaid whenever you get around to it, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just tossed them a casual salute, shot one last knowing wink at Emma, and sauntered off towards Mitch and Robin.

“An interesting fellow,” Killian commented.

“Yeah, he’s—something,” Emma said, watching as Alan slung an arm across each of their shoulders.. She kind of wished he hadn’t left. There was nowhere left to look except at Killian and his tousled hair and his blue, blue eyes. The charms on his necklace were caught on one of his shirt buttons. She wanted to tug them free.

Or maybe just tug on them.

Bring him a little closer.

“I, uh, hope we can help him,” she said. “He really misses her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you turning into a romantic on me, Swan?”

“No.” She made a face and gave him a half-hearted punch on the shoulder, the way she would have with one of the other guys.

Tactical error.

Her hand was closed into a fist, but she still felt the warmth of his skin through the shirt, the soft-hardness of his biceps, and she kind of wanted to leave her hand there. Open her fist. Hold on.

It took conscious effort to pull her hand back. “Just, uh, helping out a friend.”

“Hmm.” He was looking at her, those blue eyes intent on her face, his lips slightly parted, and the moment seemed to stretch between them. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw a hint of that longing again, felt something pull at her, towards him.

They were standing closer than she’d realised. When had that happened?

And where was the inner voice screaming at her to step back?

Killian looked away first, his gaze slipping away briefly, randomly. He ducked his head a little, took a breath as his eyes met hers again. “Can I ask you something?”

Her heart skipped a beat, then seemed to trip over itself a little trying to catch back up. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“It’s just that you were rather vehement about going back to New York, but I can’t help noticing that you’re still, well, here.”

“Oh. That.”

She’d told him a dozen times that she was moving back to New York; she’d completely forgotten to tell him that she’d changed her mind.

It probably didn’t matter. But maybe it did.  To the man who’d tried to persuade her to stay, tried to give her reason to stay, it would have been another little thoughtless, pointless cruelty.

Another thing she’d messed up.

She shook her head. “I’m, uh, not going. I’m staying here.”

“Ah.” He gave a little nod, almost to himself, and smiled. It was a different smile than the one she usually saw these days. Quieter. Softer. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I imagine your family is pleased.”

“Yeah.” Emma wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Relief? Jubilation? Triumph?

Even if he felt any of that, why would he _show_ her, when she’d thrown everything back in his face before?

They stood there for another moment, not quite looking at each other, not quite looking away. Emma had a thought that she probably ought to say something else. Excuse herself. Step back. It was probably getting awkward.

It didn’t _feel_ awkward, though.

She couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. At least, nothing that wouldn’t put distance between them again, put an end to this conversation—not that it was much of a conversation right now. It was just... kind of nice.

“It appears Belle is about to claim a second victory,” Killian said eventually, nodding towards the pool table. “What do you say to a match?”

Emma looked at the pool table, then back at Killian. “You and me?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Mhmm.”

She didn’t even try to prevent her eyes from lighting up. “You’re on.”


	5. Chapter 5

She’d been wrong: Killian Jones was not a problem. But Emma definitely _had_ a problem.

How the hell did you tell a guy that, actually, all that flirting that you always said really annoyed you? Yeah, could he just start doing that again, please? And mean it?

You didn’t. The ball was solidly, stubbornly, in her court, and she knew it.

She just didn’t know what to do about it.

Emma had never been one to chase after boys. Either they chased after her, or nothing happened. The only exception was work. She’d done plenty of chasing as a bailbondsperson.

But she couldn’t use those tactics here. It might work, but she would _never_ live it down, and it felt all kinds of wrong. Her bailbonds tactics were for hook-ups, and while that made for a great pun, it wasn’t what she wanted now.

As for what she did want... well, there was no need to think about that, really. That would be getting ahead of herself. There was no need to start figuring out labels or names for things that might not happen.

Right? ~~~~

There was, she told her inner voice ( which had begun to sound a lot like Mary Margaret), no need to think about phrases like “lady love” and how nice they sounded.

 

*  *  *

 

She had fully intended to invite herself along to the rendezvous with Ariel, but Leroy and his impeccable timing had other plans. By the time she had managed to sort out his problem, the meeting was long over.

“Hey,” David said, surprised, as he returned from patrol. “I thought you’d be down at the beach.”

“Yeah, same here.” It was an effort to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “But Leroy happened.”

“What was it this time?”

“His boat got stolen.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Except it’s docked in the harbour, right where he left it, meaning that if it _was_ stolen, it’s been returned, so how stolen is it really?”

David considered that. “Not very.”

“Right,” Emma growled. Then she took a breath, hesitated, and said, “I should follow up on it. Not the boat, I mean, the thing with Ariel.”

David was looking at her in a knowing sort of way, and she went on hurriedly, “I just think we should be in the loop. I’ll go find Alan—”

“He’s in Granny’s with Robin and Hook,” David told her. “I saw them on my way back. Go ahead, I can finish up here.”

Her shift wasn’t over for another hour, and normally Emma would have pointed that out. Or changed direction and insisted on staying, because she was pretty sure he thought she was just doing this because of Killian. Which she wasn’t. She really did want to know what was going on.

So what if the mention of his name had given her a little jolt?

David didn’t know that. _Couldn’t_ know that. But if he suspected anything, it meant that he was trying to _help_ her—and that was new, this more subtle kind of help, from both him and Mary Margaret. She appreciated it more than she could say. Her parents were trying to meet her halfway, and she was determined to stop rejecting them at every turn.

They were patient, but if you kept saying no, eventually, everyone stopped offering. She didn’t want that to happen. And anyway, it was bad form.

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds good. I’ll see you at home then.”

 

*  *  *

 

They were sitting in a booth near the back of the diner when Emma walked in; Killian with his back to her, arm slung over the backrest, facing Alan and Robin across the table. Alan looked up when she entered, waved, and said something she couldn’t hear.

Killian straightened as she approached, and half-turned to look at her. He was all casual good looks with his windswept hair and black button-down shirt, blue eyes piercing the distance between them. Her chest fluttered, like it always did, much as she’d always tried to ignore it.

“Hey,” she said, striving for a casual tone. “Mind if I join you guys?”

“By all means,” Alan said, even as Killian shifted in his seat, taking his arm off the backrest and moving a little further towards the wall in wordless invitation. Alan looked even more cheerful than usual, his smile brighter than Emma had ever seen it. “Where were you? I thought you were going to come with us.”

“Yeah. Leroy happened.” Emma slid into the booth, careful to keep a reasonable amount of distance between herself and Killian, even if she suddenly wasn’t quite sure what constituted _reasonable_. Perching too close to the edge might make them all think she was putting extra distance between them to compensate for something, but too close and she’d look like she was _trying_ to get close to him, and...

She shifted in her seat. Her leg brushed against his. She moved away a little, disguising the motion by crossing her legs.

The booth was very warm. She immediately regretted not taking her jacket off, but she couldn’t do that now, not without awkward contortions in her seat and probably elbowing Killian in the ribs.

“Everything all right?” Killian asked, brow furrowed.

“What?” she asked, too quickly and probably too loudly, her brain already gearing up to deny everything.

“With Leroy?” he prompted, furrow deepening.

“Oh. That. Yeah.” She wasn’t about to get into the whole boat-theft thing. She was still busy concentrating on keeping her leg from touching his leg. “All good. How’d it go with Ariel?”

“Well, no luck with portals, but we did come up with a temporary arrangement. Ariel has a set of linked shells that allow for communication no matter what realm one finds oneself in. She had given one to me, which is how I was able to contact her. She’s on her way now to deliver hers to Yvonne, and I’ve given mine to this scoundrel.” He gestured at Alan with his chin. Alan only grinned at him and held up a silver chain, from which dangled a small white sea shell.

“So you’ll be able to talk to each other?” Emma said, looking over at Alan. “That’s great!”

“Yes it is,” Alan said, his smile turning a little self-deprecating but no less bright. “I can’t wait to hear her voice.”

Ruby showed up just then, with what seemed to be Robin’s second sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate for Emma. As Alan and Ruby teased Robin for his appetite, Killian wordlessly slid the container of cinnamon over to Emma. A simple action, and one he didn’t seem to think about, done while he told Alan, “Don’t be too hard on him, keeping up with a queen is hungry work.”

Robin glowered at him. Emma hid a smile as she sprinkled cinnamon onto her hot chocolate. It should have freaked her out that there were people who knew her so well these days—Ruby bringing her “the usual”, Killian knowing about the cinnamon, her father all but reading her mind about wanting to come here.

But there was a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest, and the old fear was barely even an afterthought. There was no threat here, no danger. It was just... nice.

Even if she still felt like she was sitting on a metaphorical ant hill. Her arm brushed against Killian’s as she took a sip of her drink, and she ended up blowing on it with a little more vigour than she’d intended. The little dollop of cream on the top teetered, but mercifully stayed put.

Her arm was tingling.

“As for portals,” Robin said, his tone trying to get them back on track, “I’ve talked to Regina, but it appears that magic beans are our best bet. She did say, however, that Rumplestiltskin might know a more permanent solution.”

Killian looked sour at these words, glowering as he played with one of his rings, twisting it around and around his finger. He was almost slouching back in his seat, leaning against the wall—away from Emma, and she was trying very hard not to wonder whether it was _because_ of her.

She hesitated, but the question had been on her mind anyway, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask. She turned to Killian. “How did you do it? When you found me in New York?”

To her surprise, he looked flustered by the question. Tossing a glance towards Alan and Robin, he cleared his throat and forced a smile. “A magic bean.”

His shirt wasn’t entirely black. There was a subtle pattern in the fabric, muted purples and blues forming floral shapes. The kind of shirt Emma would have scoffed at, if she’d seen it hanging in a shop. On Killian, though, it looked good.

With an effort, Emma stopped herself from tracing the pattern with her eyes, and from reaching out to touch the fabric, and from watching the way it shifted and changed with every little movement he made. What had he said?

Magic beans. Right. “I thought there weren’t any more.”

He nodded. “There aren’t many, and they aren’t easy to find. What I did was a—a one-off deal, I’m afraid. But if you don’t mind, that’s a story for another time.” His smile was definitely strained, and Emma had no idea how to interpret the look in his eyes. It reminded her of that day she’d run into him down at the docks, and she wanted to know what it meant. What he was thinking. How he felt.

Before she could even begin to figure out how to vocalise any of that, Killian went on, “I think our best chance in this realm is, alas, the crocodile.”

The message was clear: back to business. Emma made a face. “I don’t know if that’s much of a chance.”

“Belle tells me he’s changed,” Killian said, and his expression could have appeared in the dictionary next to the definition of “sceptical”. “Perhaps approaching her would be best.”

“Yeah. Get her to ask him, so at least he won’t refuse on principle.”

“Or demand a price,” Killian agreed. “Because it isn’t worth making a deal.”

“Depends on the deal,” Emma said, without thinking. Her last deal with Gold hadn’t gone too badly, all things considered. It had brought her closure with Neal, enabled Henry to meet his dad... not to mention probably saved Killian’s life.

Not that she was about to tell him _that_.

He scowled at her. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Yeah, it does. He helped us get Henry back, remember?”

“That wasn’t a deal,” Killian argued. “That was self-interest and perhaps a stirring of conscience, though I suspect it had more to do with impressing his lady love.”

There was that damn word again.

“Yeah, well, he still did it, so—” Emma wasn’t really sure where she was going with this.

“Maybe,” Alan spoke up, looking amused, “before we argue whether it’s _worth_ making a deal, we should see whether we can just avoid it? Approach Belle, remember?”

Killian shot him a dark look, then glanced at Emma, and conceded the point with a shrug. “Aye. She may be able to persuade him to help without demanding a price.”

“And she might know something we don’t,” Emma said, nodding. She wanted to reach out, to smooth away that frown that was still lingering on his face, but there was no way in hell she could let herself do that.

She really needed to get out of here. Or find something else to focus on. “Let’s ask her.”

“Aye.” Killian stopped playing with his ring, and sat up a little. “She’ll be in the library for another while. I could go over there now and talk to her.”

“Sure.” Emma stood to let him out of the seat, hesitating a moment before offering, “I can come with you.”

He shot her a wry grin as he scooted along the seat. “What’s the matter, Swan, don’t trust me to get the job done?”

She shrugged and smirked back at him. “Maybe I just like your company.”

Instead of the casual, flirty tone she’d been aiming for, her voice seemed to head straight for sincere. She felt something inside herself crumble.

She should’ve overplayed it. Made it sound ridiculous. Instead, she just sounded honest, at least to herself.

_Oh, god._

He looked ever-so-briefly startled, and she thought he tripped over his own feet a little as he got up off the seat. But he was back on balance so fast that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. “A man can dream,” he said, still with that wry grin. “Shall we?”

Robin and Alan were watching them, Emma realised, looking for all the world like two men at the theatre. Her cheeks felt warm.

“See you later,” Alan said, with an innocent smile that told her she’d probably be reliving this moment the next time she saw him.

She pretended not to notice as she waved at him and Robin. “See you.”

With as much dignity as she could muster, she preceded Killian out of the diner while trying to stop that exchange from replaying in her head. And prevent her inner cringing from showing on her face, because she knew how to flirt, she’d done it more times than she could count, and that hadn’t been it. You weren’t supposed to just... say things you actually meant.

And what had _he_ meant? _A man can dream?_ Had that been a stock response, a way of brushing the whole thing off, or a little friendly banter, or...

Yeah, she was bad at this.

“Are you all right, Swan?” Killian asked as they set off along the sidewalk towards the library.

“Yep. I’m fine.” She realised how she sounded even as she said it. “Okay, that probably didn’t sound believable.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Not as such, no. You seem a little tense.”

She looked at him, searching his face for a hint that he was mocking her, or cheekily pushing for some kind of admission, but she found nothing but vague concern. “It’s nothing.”

“I can talk to Belle alone, if you’d rather not accompany me,” he said.

“No, it’s—” Something else occurred to her. “I mean, do you want to do it alone? I can leave, if you want to—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said hurriedly. “I just thought perhaps you’d prefer—”

“Really, I didn’t mean to just invite myself along—”

“—not to imply that I don’t appreciate the company—”

“Okay, stop,” Emma said, holding up a hand. “This is just—okay. Look. I wouldn’t have offered to come if I didn’t want to.”

Killian tilted his head, then smiled. “I wouldn’t have accepted if I didn’t want to.”

“Okay,” she said, unaccountably relieved. “Good.”

It felt something like a truce, as they crossed the street to the library. Killian pulled the door open, and gestured for her to enter. She did, trying hard not to feel any way about it. It was just good manners. He would have done it for anyone.

But it still felt nice.

 

*  *  *

 

Belle was just as willing to help as Emma had expected. What she hadn’t expected was the visit from Gold a day later, and the offer he brought with him.

“It so happens that I found a portal,” he said, his usual arrogance less hostile somehow. “A door that leads from this realm to the Enchanted Forest. It isn’t operational, but you might be able to change that.”

Emma felt her eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Swan.” He cocked his head in that condescending way that always made her want to punch him. “You’re the only one around here with light magic, last time I checked. Not counting the fairies, and you really _can’t_ count on them. In any case, you’re stronger.”

“I have no idea how to make a portal work.”

“Of course you don’t.” He shrugged. “I, on the other hand, do. So between us, we ought to be able to figure it out, don’t you think?”

“What’s the price?” Mary Margaret asked, suspicious. “There’s always a price.”

“It’s not my magic, dearie,” Gold told her. “So it isn’t my price.”

“What’s your price for telling Emma how to do it?” David asked.

Gold expelled a breath. “Well, at least you’ve learned to ask the right questions. Better late than never, eh?” He smirked, then shrugged again. “No charge.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?”

His eyes flashed. “You’re the one who wanted my help. Take it or leave it.”

In that instant, he reminded her irresistibly of Killian—specifically, of Killian striding down the gangplank and offering to help her find Henry, grumpy and grudging and defiant all at once.

Daring her to question him every step of the way. To insist that, actually, villains couldn’t change.

Still not entirely sure that he believed he could, himself.

“I’ll take it,” Emma said simply. “Thanks.”

“Fine.” Gold nodded, holding out a business card. “Here’s the address. Meet me there tomorrow. And have the outlaw’s girlfriend or whoever she is go to the other address on there, in the Enchanted Forest. I trust you’ll know which is which.”

And he left, closing the loft door behind him.

“Always a pleasure,” David muttered after him.

Mary Margaret gave him a light smack on the arm. “Hey. He’s trying. Not everyone can be as charming as you.”

David scoffed, visibly trying to keep his scowl in place despite the fondness for his wife that wanted to peek through. “Yeah, well, I’m not giving him pointers again.”

 

*  *  *

 

Putting up with Gold’s less-than-gracious temperament and rather snarky instructions was all worth it a day later when Emma managed to make the portal flare to life. The air in the doorway shimmered, forming a glittering, swirling barrier of light beyond which lay—hopefully—the Enchanted Forest.

There followed the inevitable argument about who would go through it first. Gold stood back with Belle, watching the proceedings with a haughty amusement that Emma was starting to suspect hid envy at other people’s bravery.

She, David, Alan, and Robin were in the middle of a heated discussion about who should go when Killian growled, “Bloody hell”, pushed past David, and sauntered through the portal.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Typical,” Gold muttered. It was hard to tell whether he sounded annoyed or impressed.

Emma’s heart was beating very fast. She’d done everything right. Hadn’t she? She’d done everything Gold had said, and it had worked, so surely—

The shimmering air rippled, and Killian reappeared, striding back into the room as though he owned it. “There,” he said, looking as exasperated as if he’d just had to test water to make sure it was, indeed, wet. “Works like a charm, just as we knew it would. The lady ought to be along any—”

At that moment, the air flickered and moved again, and a young woman walked through the portal. Emma barely had time to take in dark hair and a short, curvy stature before she shrieked something incomprehensible and hurled herself at Alan.

Definitely all worth it, Emma decided as she watched Alan sweep Yvonne into his arms and spin her around, laughing.

She did her best to ignore the pang somewhere deep in her chest. Trying not to think back on her reunion with Killian, a far cry from this. And that was on her. She had been happy to see him, but she’d done her damnedest not to be.

Just like she always did. The moment happiness reared its head, she pushed it away, ran from it, convinced it couldn’t be real. She’d been doing that more and more lately.

“Nice work, Swan,” Killian commented from beside her. Coming on the heels of her own thoughts like that, it sounded sarcastic.

She huffed. “You really shouldn’t have just run through there.”

She realised as she said it that she was doing it again. Countering his compliments with censure. Pushing him away.

He raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. “I find _should_ to be a rather stifling concept in general. Most of the fun always seems to be in the things one _shouldn’t_ do.”

This time, it was the urge to roll her eyes and say something dismissive that she pushed away. “That kind of thinking’s what gets you into trouble."

He smirked. “That can be fun, too.”

That hit straight to her core, blood heating and heart jumping, the smirk and the tone and the world of meaning in that look he gave her...

Her throat was dry. She licked her lips, swallowed. She wanted to say something witty, and maybe a little flirty, but before she could think of anything, his expression had shuttered again, as if he’d remembered something.

Moments later, Yvonne and Alan were there to thank her, and Mary Margaret came to berate Killian for going through the portal with a proud smile that belied her words, and it didn’t matter that Emma couldn’t think of any words because she couldn’t have said them anyway.

 

*  *  *

 

It had been years since Emma had had an honest-to-god crush on anyone. In fact, she’d filed the whole concept away under teenage nonsense a long time ago. She felt attraction occasionally, sure, but crushes were for starry-eyed kids with idealised dreams of romance and fairytales.

Well, the fairytales had come back to her with a vengeance. It just figured that the other thing would, too.

And no matter how much she might ignore and deny it, the fact was that she was ticking all the boxes. Noticing his every movement. Hyperfocusing on every gesture, every word, every look, and dissecting them afterwards, wondering what it all meant, if it meant anything. Looking for chances to be alone with him, only to stop herself from following through on them because what would she even say? Or do?

She’d avoided relationships ever since Neal. She avoided commitment, ran from any kind of emotional involvement. People left. Caring for them meant getting her heart broken.

But things were different now. They’d been different ever since she’d come to Storybrooke. Instead of leaving, Killian kept coming back. Following. Staying.

It was dawning on her that she already _had_ a relationship with him. It just wasn’t quite the one she wanted. They were allies, partners, friends. Two people who knew each other.

It just wasn’t enough. It’d be better if she could hold his hand when they walked down the street together. Or hug him. Or kiss him. Or smile at him like her mother smiled at her father with no one batting an eye, because that was just how things were between them.

So okay, maybe she knew what she wanted. Not the label, or the name; that was a minefield of weirdness. The idea of referring to Captain Hook as her _boyfriend_ was ridiculous.

But she knew what she wanted. The answer was in the way her heart pounded when he sauntered into potential danger, the way it leapt when he looked at her. The dozens of unasked questions that sat in her throat, wanting to know more about him. The constant urge to seek him out. The way it felt to sit beside him in the diner, like they were a team, like she belonged there.

Yeah, she knew what she wanted.

The question was how to get it.

It wasn’t like she could just go up to Killian Jones and say, _hey, I like you_. Maybe, she thought with a savage burst of inner sarcasm, hand him one of those notes that the kids in school passed to each other. _Do u like me? yes_ ♡ _/ no_ ☹

No, that wasn’t an option, even if she could manage to be more suave about it than a thirteen-year-old. She wasn’t some kid with a crush. She didn’t _do_ pursuit.

And she was _not_ going to compete for his affections like some—like some—like—

_You’re going to have to choose, Emma._

Like _he_ had. Right.

The only other option, though, was to wait for him to make a move. And it was pretty apparent that he wasn’t going to. One of the things she’d come to learn about Killian was that beneath all the pirate swagger and mercenary attitude, he had a pretty strict code of honour. Good form, as he called it.

And good form meant that when someone told you no, you backed off, and left them alone.

Not that she’d actually said no. He had just _decided_ that was what she’d meant.

And she was almost sure—would have been sure, if not for that tiny insecure part that was convinced it was impossible for anyone to care for her—that that was the reason why he’d suddenly backed off. Surely, if he’d had enough of her, he wouldn’t keep giving her those longing looks. Which was what they were. She knew what pining looked like on Killian Jones’ stupidly handsome face.

But he wasn’t going to make a move.

It was infuriating.

All the more so because Emma suddenly seemed to be surrounded, no, _beleaguered_ , by happy couples. She was more or less used to her parents, but now there were Alan and Yvonne, and Robin wasn’t shy about showing his feelings for Regina and, to Emma’s amazement and chagrin, Regina had begun to reciprocate. Everyone was exchanging loving glances and teasing quips and Ruby and Granny were in the middle of it all with knowing smiles and commentary, and Emma was getting angry at the lot of them.

It wasn’t that she minded being single. It would have been fine, had it not been for the walking, talking _what-if_ who was reacting to the loved-up atmosphere with cheerful teasing and suggestive comments to rival Granny’s.

Who was he, anyway, to decide what she had meant, or wanted? She had never told him no. Not that he’d really bothered to ask in the first place. Innuendo and a few winks and smirks and looks weren’t exactly the same as asking someone out.

She had even kissed him. Granted, she’d told him it was a one-time thing, and at the time she’d meant it, but he hadn’t given up _then_ , had he? He’d kept going with his promises and sincerity and not a day would go by that he wouldn’t think of her, and then all of a sudden he’d decided that she’d said no.

Which she hadn’t, damn it.

Really, this whole situation was entirely his fault.

And he was handsome. And he smelled good. And his hair was getting a little long, and Emma kept wanting to brush it out of his face.

She didn’t. Instead, she watched Ruby do it, as he sat in a booth in Granny’s with Belle and Tink, talking and laughing. He swatted at Ruby’s hand in fond exasperation as she tried to fix his hair, and made some remark that had her mock-glaring at him.

The sight of him, sitting there like a cock in the henhouse while they all simpered at him, made Emma’s blood boil.

And she remembered, suddenly, the reports that she kept burying at the bottom of her in-tray.

She stalked over to the table. “Hook.”

He looked up, a grin lingering from whatever Tink had said. “Good morning.”

“I need you to come down to the station with me.”

He frowned, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Anger was still swirling inside her, fuelling her words. “Because I’m the sheriff, and I’ve had some reports that I need to follow up on.”

Tink’s face was a study in restrained amusement; Belle looked concerned. Killian just leaned back, one arm draped insouciantly over the backrest. “Are you going to arrest me, _sheriff_?”

She raised her chin. “Do I have to?”

He held her gaze for a moment, then shook his head and got to his feet, moving like a kid in school who’s just been told to stand in the corner. “Very well.”

He sauntered out ahead of her, and she marched behind him, trying to suppress the guilt that was already fighting through the anger. He didn’t hold the door for her this time, either too annoyed for manners or—it occurred to her after a moment—assuming that she wouldn’t trust him to follow her.

She suppressed the guilt that wanted to surface past the anger, and headed for the car.

 

*  *  *

 

The ride to the sheriff station was short and silent. Emma was still fuming, and Killian was staring out of the window, not looking at her. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. That only made her angrier.

“All right, Swan,” Killian said once he’d swaggered into the station and turned to face her. “You’ve got me. Now what in blazes is going on?”

His tone, purposely casual and more than a little insolent, raised her hackles. Any hope she’d had of maybe _talking_ to him vanished.

Okay, maybe dragging him off like that had been a mistake. She wouldn’t have reacted well to that either, if someone had done that to her.

Fortunately, she did have a reason. One she could legitimately be annoyed about.

“It’s about the boats,” she said, riffling through the papers on her desk. “I’ve got, four—no, five, reports of boats going missing down at the docks.”

Killian leaned back against David’s desk. “Are they still missing?” he asked, more calmly than before.

“No,” Emma said. “Because you didn’t steal them, did you, you’ve been taking them out for joy rides. With my kid.”

He shrugged. He was wearing a plain navy shirt today, the top four buttons undone. The charms around his neck caught the light, brushing over the coarse hair on his chest. At least, Emma thought it was coarse. She hadn’t given into the temptation to find out how it felt yet. A missed opportunity in Neverland, but then, she’d been distracted.

The sight of him was maddening. Didn’t he know how to do up a shirt properly? Did he do it on purpose? Did he think it was attractive? It wasn’t.

(It was.)

Killian didn’t notice her perusal, apparently focused on the argument. “It’s possible that I forgot to ask permission a few times, but really, Swan—”

“You took my kid _pirating_ ,” she said.

Some of the calm faded from his face as his brows drew together. “What did you think I was using to take him sailing, pixie dust and the power of wishful thinking? Besides which, you saw us, more than once.”

“I thought you had permission from the owners,” Emma shot back.

“Did you?” he challenged.

She hadn’t. She would have been amazed if he’d bothered to ask permission.

“Come on, what’s this really about? Are you planning to arrest me for borrowing without permission? Do you even have any proof?”

“I _saw_ you.”

He smirked. “Yes? On which boat?”

They stared at each other. She knew she’d never be able to identify any of the boats down in the harbour, and she knew that he knew it, too.

She couldn’t say for certain that she’d seen him aboard any of the boats that had been reported as... well, borrowed without permission.

“You didn’t bring me here to arrest me,” Killian went on. “It’s not really piracy if you bring it back, anyway.”

“So you admit to taking them?”

“I didn’t say that.”

They looked at each other, Emma glaring, Killian with that exaggerated innocence that only the guilty can manage.

Then he shifted his weight, leaning back again, and said, “I don’t think you suddenly care about a few bouts of petty law-breaking. I think...” He smirked again. “I think the thef—the _alleged_ boat theft was just an excuse.”

_Damn it_. Emma opened her mouth to deny it, thought better of it, remembered her usual response, and rolled her eyes at him.

Too late. He’d noticed her hesitation, and his expression went from smug to surprised and right back to smug. “It _was_.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Did you want to be alone with me, or were you simply jealous?”

“Keep dreaming, buddy.”

“Or maybe,” he went on, a sudden light in his eyes, “you’re helping out a friend? Were you going to call Ruby to keep an eye on me for a while?”

Emma’s heart skipped several beats, and she narrowed her eyes. He thought she was playing wingman for—“ _Ruby_? Why, what’s—look, if you two are— _no_ , I just wanted to talk to you about the, this _theft_ issue.”

He stared at her. Then he burst out laughing, a sound of pure delight. “You _are_ jealous!”

_Busted._

A familiar panic was taking hold of her—the heart-stopping, thundering fear of knowing that she’d been caught. In a last-ditch effort to deflect, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that what you want? Is that why you’re flirting with every woman in town except me, because you want me to be jealous?”

He looked as though she’d slapped him, his delighted expression vanishing in an instant, to be replaced by anger. “Like I said before, Swan, not everything I do is about you. Besides which, believe it or not, I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

Emma frowned at him, bewildered by his reaction. “I didn’t say that!”

“Isn’t that what jealousy does?” he asked. “In my experience, it’s rather unpleasant. So no, believe it or not, that’s not what I _want_.”

Emma swallowed. _Oh_.

“And,” Killian went on, “it would be bad form indeed to use other people like that. But if my spending time with my friends bothers you, then I’m afraid that’s your problem.”

“It _doesn’t_ bother me,” Emma said, trying to rally.

“Good,” he said, still looking a little annoyed. “And I’m _not_ flirting with every woman in town. Regina is no fun at all anymore, and your father frankly overreacts if I so much as smile at your mother, so—”

“Whatever,” she snapped.

He looked at her for a moment. Then that light crept back into his eyes, and he asked, “I should like to know, though: is it the _every woman_ part that bothers you, or the _except you_ part?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said again. “You can do what you want with whoever you want.”

“Great,” he said, throwing up both arms, the hook catching the light as it moved. “Fantastic. Then I suppose we’re done here.”

He turned towards the door.

“We’re done when I say we’re done!” The words burst out before Emma could stop them, propelled by the same burst of adrenaline she got when she was about to walk into a trap, or jump into a fight. The same fear and panic, the same desperate risk.

_Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave._

He whirled around, glaring at her. “You don’t give the orders here. I’ve gone along with whatever this is, I didn’t make a fuss about accompanying you here, but I can’t—”

“Fine!” she snapped. “You want to leave, leave.”

He shook his head, eyes burning. “Oh, no, I’m not walking away from a fight. You’re clearly angry at me, so let’s have it out.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Usually, people left. Stormed away in a huff. She had no idea what to do if they stayed.

“Come on,” Killian went on, impatience creeping into his voice. “You’ve never been shy about listing my shortcomings before, so come on, what is it I’ve done?”

_Flirted with every woman in town except me._

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “ _Nothing_. Whatever. You can just go, okay?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m not going anywhere until we’ve sorted this out.”

She stared at him. He stared right back, looking more defiant than angry now, apparently prepared to wait it out.

She could leave. He wasn’t standing between her and the door, and he wouldn’t stop her. Part of her wanted to.

But if he wasn’t walking away, neither was she.

“Emma,” he said after a moment. “What’s going on?”

The use of her name, along with the conciliatory tone, gave her pause. What the hell was she doing?

“Sorry,” she said. “I—yeah. Look. I shouldn’t have dragged you down here. Sorry. I was just annoyed, but I shouldn’t have—sorry.”

“I don’t like being at odds with you,” he said, as if it cost him nothing to admit it. Maybe it didn’t. It didn’t seem to have cost him anything to stay.

He’d stayed. He always stayed. Or came back.

She needed to tell him. She couldn’t keep doing this—getting angry at him when he didn’t deserve it, pretending she felt nothing, wanted nothing. She had to tell him.

How the hell was she supposed to tell him?

She swallowed. “Yeah. Me neither. I was annoyed, but, look, my problem. Like you said. Sorry.”

He was still looking at her. She wished he’d stop. Or not. Maybe come a bit closer, so she could decipher that look in his eyes, figure out what made them so magnetic that she couldn’t look away.

“Swan,” he said after a moment, “I’ll admit to being a little confused. I meant what I said before, but I can’t help feeling that lately, you’ve been...” He blew out a breath, looking frustrated.

“What?” Emma asked. She felt like she was perching on a ledge, poised to jump, or maybe to fly. Her heart was pounding, but she barely heard it.

“Different,” he said. “Towards me, that is. I realise it may well just be wishful thinking, but—”

“It isn’t.” She seized the opening like a lifeline, held onto that “wishful” before she could even think about it. Before he could take anything back, before she could convince herself that he’d meant something else.

“Emma.” He took half a step towards her, seemed to catch himself, and stopped. “Say the word and I swear I’ll never bring it up again, but have you changed your mind?”

“No, of course I—” She remembered too late that he didn’t know, that she hadn’t set it straight yet; realised too late what that sounded like to him, watched his face fall even as he tried not to let on.

She couldn’t take it. Not again. Not after all this time, all the wishful thinking... which he apparently shared, and that was a relief and kind of scary and amazing and—

She moved before she really meant to, utterly fed up with herself. She couldn’t tell him—she’d say the wrong thing again and mess it up, and besides, talking just overcomplicated everything. She’d always been better with action.

So she caught up to him as he stepped back, and grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in for a kiss.

She had half a thought that he might pull away, but it seemed that there was a limit to good form. He stayed right there, though he didn’t move at all, and she thought she’d made a mistake, misread the situation, he didn’t want her, he didn’t want this, he—

Kissed her back.

And kissed her, and kissed her, and she realised that this was really happening and she leaned into him and wound her arms around his neck because it was real and it felt like coming home and she needed it to keep happening.

It didn’t. He pulled back after a moment, after an eternity, and rested his forehead against hers, eyes downcast but not closed. “Emma—”

“That answer the question?” she asked, breathless and still a little amazed.

He laughed, a small, surprised thing. “I think so.” He swayed into her. “Though I shan’t complain if you want to elaborate on some det—”

She kissed him again.

She hadn’t forgotten what it was like. The memory of that first kiss had replayed in her mind several times, much as she’d tried to ignore it. But this wasn’t Neverland, heady and a little frantic and playing with fire. This was slow and gentle, with just enough demanding determination to remind her who she was with. Killian kissed her with a quiet, soft kind of desperation, like he couldn’t get enough, and didn’t want to.

His hand was tangling in her hair, his other arm curled around her waist, and she pressed closer to him and lost herself in sensation. The softness of his lips. The slight tickle of his beard. The warmth of his skin.

This time, she was the one who ended it, drifting away a little so she could look at him. She knew that this was it. No more pretending. No more excuses. No more running.

“So,” he said, voice low and rough and hopeful, “you _did_ change your mind.”

“No.” Exasperated, she leaned back, although she kept her arms around his neck for balance. “No, I never said—you’re the one who decided I was turning you down!”

He frowned. “You made it pretty clear.”

She wanted to argue, but it seemed kind of pointless now. She had rebuffed him plenty of times. She just hadn’t meant it. “That’s what you thought.”

He looked incredulous. “Are you telling me that—this whole time, you—bloody hell, why didn’t you set it straight?”

She shrugged, feeling a bit awkward, but it was hard to feel embarrassed when his arms were still around her and his eyes were so warm on hers and he wasn’t going to judge her for anything she said. “What was I gonna say? ‘Actually, that wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either, so don’t get any ideas’?”

He smirked down at her. “That would have worked for me.”

“I just wasn’t ready,” she said, more quietly.

He hummed, nodding. “And now?”

No judgement. No pressure. It was all so damn _easy_ all of a sudden that Emma felt giddy with the relief of it. She grinned at him. “You haven’t figured _that_ out yet, either? Man, you are on the ball tod—”

He cut her off with a kiss, hauling her closer again and almost lifting her off her feet. “Enough,” he said, mock-stern, mouth hovering near hers. “Don’t tease me, love, I just spent _weeks_ thinking you were done with me.”

Again, it seemed to cost him nothing to say it, to admit how invested he was in whatever this was between them. For a pirate with a reputation and a talent for lying and violence, he sure wore his heart on his sleeve a lot.

Then again, maybe he could afford to. Maybe the trick wasn’t to hide your feelings. Maybe the trick was to be strong enough that no one could take advantage of them.

“Sorry.” She reached up to brush a hand over his cheek, like she’d wanted to do over and over for weeks now. He leaned into the touch, and she wasn’t ready for the rush of emotion that came with that. Her knees were feeling a little weak. She grabbed onto his shoulders for support. He had nice ones, not overly broad, but solid and strong. They matched his arms.

Which were around her. So damn close. All those times she’d wanted to reach for him, and now here he was, like it wasn’t even a big deal. Like it wasn’t a problem at all.

And she really, _really_ , didn’t want to let him go.

“I messed up,” she admitted. “I got scared, and I tried to push everything away, and... god, I really shouldn’t have dragged you down here like that, either. Sorry.”

He shrugged lightly, glancing meaningfully down at the way they were standing, holding each other. “Overall I can’t say I’m inclined to complain.”

She nudged his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, and I mean it when I say it’s all right,” he said, more seriously again. Then he narrowed his eyes, half-joking, half-not. “As long as this isn’t another one-time thing, that is.”

She _had_ said that, hadn’t she? She tried a slightly overdramatic wince, hand trailing down to his collar. “Okay, yeah. I’ve said a couple of things I didn’t mean.”

Killian gave a soft laugh and leaned back a little, looking down at her with something close to wonder in his eyes. “I rather think you meant it at the time, love. Though I did hope you might change your mind.”

There were still a few things to talk about—she owed him an apology for the hand thing, and she still hadn’t exactly _told_ him how she felt, and as for labelling all of this, she had no idea. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when he was looking at her like that. Not when all the pent-up longing and hoping and wondering of the past few weeks was boiling up inside her, and she knew he felt the same way. He didn’t need to say it. He’d been telling her for months.

She just wanted him to know it, too.

“Definitely,” she said, and pulled him in for another kiss.

It felt more natural this time; she already knew the way his mouth slanted over hers, the slight prickle of scruff against her skin. She thought, vaguely, that she could get used to this. _Wanted_ to get used to this.

She ran her hands down his chest, felt his heart beat through his shirt, faster than normal. His breath was coming a little fast, too.

She could do that, to him. With just a kiss.

His hand made its way under her jacket, settling in the curve of her waist. A bolder move than anything he’d done to date, and so help her, she loved it. She didn’t want any more hesitation, or doubt, or distance. She wanted him to _take_ , to know that he could.

And she wanted to take, too. To hell with running, or fear, or caution. She was getting her man.

She shifted her weight forward, turning until he was the one backed against the wall, and left his mouth to kiss her way along his jaw to his neck. She slipped one hand down, along his chest, the hair there coarse but softer than she'd imagined, the necklace clinking slightly as she brushed past it.

He made a noise in his throat that was pure sin, one she immediately knew she needed to hear again. “Emma.”

“Mhmm.” His skin was warm, a little salty, a little rough. She gave an experimental nip with her teeth.

“Bloody _hell_. Emma.” He was definitely out of breath now. “You’re—I—c’mere.”

She’d been missing out, before, when he’d been hesitant and holding back and careful. Killian Jones was at his best when he was confident, and he seemed to have got the message that she wasn’t going anywhere.

He captured her lips with his, kissed her until she stopped thinking altogether. She melted against him, losing herself in the sensations that poured through her. Heat flooded her body, gathering between her legs, making her arch into him. No kiss was ever going to be enough, amazing as it felt. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

He slid his hand along her waist, caressing her through her thin shirt, and it felt so good she could have cried. No one had touched her like that for a long time, and she wasn’t usually one to get touch-starved, but this was something else.

He couldn’t seem to get enough, either. “I’ve thought about this,” he murmured between kisses, “since Neverland. Can’t seem to get you out of my head.”

“Good.” She buried a hand in his hair, loving the feel of it, trying to anchor herself against the tide of emotion. “Wouldn’t be—mhmm—fair if you did.”

He bent his head to nuzzle into her neck, his breath hot on her skin, and he made that noise at the back of his throat again. “You’ve thought about me?”

“Sometimes.” The words came out a bit strangled as she bit back a moan. “Maybe.”

He found her lips again, and pulled her closer, like he couldn’t get her close enough. Like he was just as desperate as she was to know that this was real. Emma pushed against him, tugging at his shirt and his hair, a delicious ache spreading through her and urging her on.

Something clattered to the ground beside her.

It startled them both, bringing reality crashing back in. They broke apart, and Emma’s eyes flew open. A quick glance told her that the noise had come from mug she’d left on the cabinet earlier, knocked to the ground by her or Killian.

Right. They were in the sheriff station. And she had Killian backed into the line-up wall, the six-foot mark just visible above his head.

“Ah,” Killian said, relaxing his hold on her with a grin that wasn’t quite as shame-faced as he was probably trying to make it. “Perhaps this is... not the place.”

“Right,” Emma said, trying to catch her breath. She might have been tempted to keep going, but she was no longer the only sheriff in town. And for all that her father had been warming towards Killian lately, walking in on them like _this_ probably wouldn’t help. “David’s out on patrol, I uh. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“If his instincts work as usual, I would guess any second,” Killian said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m frankly amazed that neither he nor that damn dwarf have shown up yet.”

“Leroy knows better than to bother me again before the end of the week,” Emma said, maybe a little smugly.

He grinned at her. “Always knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“That better not be the only reason.” It was out before she could think twice, and she realised as she finished the sentence that it might be a little presumptuous, because they still hadn’t really talked about—

“Definitely not.” Killian leaned closer again, bumping his forehead against hers. “Would you like a list?”

His voice had turned low and a little raspy again, and it seemed to go right through her. This man was going to ruin her. And she was going to love every second of it.

“You don’t have a list,” she said.

He shrugged easily. “Not as such, no, but I can compile one. Current number one is the fact that you dragged me off to the brig to have your way with me.”

“I did _not_ —” she began, but he was grinning, and she couldn’t hold onto the indignation. “You did take those boats. Admit it.”

“ _Borrowed_ , love, and that’s not why you brought me here. Admit it.”

“Technically, it was,” she insisted. “But okay, it wasn’t why I was mad. I, uh. I think I was mostly mad at myself. Frustrated.”

“It’s been a long few weeks, hasn’t it,” he offered, the grin turning wry.

“Yep.” The word came out quieter than she intended, as the memories of the past weeks pushed in. She’d messed up, and it didn’t matter. He was still here.

_Imagine that._

He hugged her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She felt the hard leather of his brace press against her shoulder blade and burrowed into him.

It was all so damn easy. It already felt like they’d been like this forever.

After a moment, he said, “Swan?”

“Hmm.”

“ _Does_ it bother you, my spending time with Ruby and Tink and the others?”

“What? No.” She pulled away so she could look up at him. “No, of course not. I was just annoyed it wasn’t me.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head, blue eyes warm. “It was, though. It’s been you for a long time now.”

Her heart fluttered. Heat flooded through her again. Her knees really weren’t holding up too well, either.

She’d been right all along: Killian Jones was a problem. Those blue eyes, and the feelings on his sleeve, and the way she was already aching to kiss him again, and the promise of more that lingered between them. Definitely a problem.

But one she was _really_ looking forward to dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long! I had the whole fic done, then ended up rewriting basically all of the last three chapters. But I do think the story is much much better for it, and I hope you like it! If I can manage it, there'll be an epilogue soon. Thanks for sticking with it and for all the lovely comments!


End file.
